


Light the Way

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Best Friends, Boys In Love, Coming of Age, Family, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay For You, Light Angst, M/M, Secret Relationship, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 14:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17561996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: Mark is Nicky's summer best friend, the boy he sees every year when his family spends their holidays at the beach.  But last year things took an unexpected turn, and after a year apart Nicky isn't sure if their relationship can be the same, or if his growing feelings will ruin things forever.





	1. Chapter 1

Nicky didn't remember a time they hadn't gone to Sligo.

How it had started he wasn't entirely sure. There wasn't much reason to go west, not when there were so many closer places to holiday. His friends went to places like Dundalk and Wicklow but every year the Byrnes would pack up the car, get on the road early, and by lunchtime be passing through Sligo centre, the kids with their faces squashed against the glass, his dad telling the same dreadful jokes and their mam asking for the hundredth time if anybody needed the bathroom.

It was the same little holiday cottage every year, on the coast of Strandhill. Slightly idiosyncratic stove, creaky step, a room each for the kids and mam and dad in the master bedroom that looked out onto the cove. And there they'd stay for three weeks, until it felt almost as home as their own house did.

He didn't remember meeting Mark.

It probably made sense. He'd been six, and at that age everyone was a new friend, at least everyone your age who had a frisbee and a bike. There were pictures of that first year, of Mark holding out an ice-cream for Nicky to lick, both of them giggling and Mark's skinny legs covered in sand. He hadn't minded that Mark had been only five; he was used to being the younger one, and it was nice to be the older one for once when he always felt dragged from pillar to post by grown-ups who said they knew more than Nicky did but wouldn't tell him what there was to know.

By the third year he was asking if they were going to go see Mark. School would be two weeks from finishing and Nicky would already be thinking about all the things he needed to tell him about the last year, had filed away without noticing. Thinking when he'd gotten one of his baby teeth knocked out falling off his bike that he'd have to tell Mark. That he'd have to check to see how Mark felt about that song Nicky had liked six months before when it had been all over the radio.

He had friends at home. He liked his friends at home. But Mark was his special friend, the one he only got to see for a little while, who would always smile and laugh when Nicky ran over and flung himself into arms that had gotten stronger over the years. As Mark had gotten taller, taller even than Nicky.

There was a picture of the two of them. Nicky eight and Mark seven, stood in the surf. The water up to their knees, the sun high in the sky, both of them shiny with sun cream, wearing hats and sodden t-shirts. Mark had gotten burned anyway, because he always did.

Their hands had been between them, gripped into a tight hold. Too young to care about the implications of it, because it had made sense when Nicky had reached out, knocked slightly off-balance by the current, and Mark had caught him.

It had made less sense last summer, when Mark had been saying goodbye on the last day, both of them squashed in a little nook down the coast, curled up between the rocks as the sun sank, and they'd hugged tight, and somehow, in the middle of it all, Nicky had kissed him.

He'd gone red. Mark had too, blazing through the cherry-kissed flush of sunburn on his face. Both of them had said 'um'. Nicky had tried to explain, tried to find the words.

He'd been cut off by the next kiss.

It had been... god, he didn't even know. Soft. A bit clumsy. He didn't know if it had been Mark's first kiss, had a feeling it had been, sixteen years old and Mark a bit of an introvert. He'd tasted like the salt from the chips they'd shared earlier in the afternoon. A rumbly little whine had brushed his lip. Nicky had swallowed it, his hands clenched into fists between them, frozen and not sure where to land. When he'd opened his eyes Mark had been staring at him. Nicky had swallowed.

Mark had run.

Nicky had sat, thought he could probably catch up - Mark not the most athletic of people and him more than used to doing laps and sprints at training - but suddenly hadn't been able to find the energy. Sunk into a confused puddle between the rocks while Mark's shadow had darted up over the ridge and disappeared, the whir of his bike-pedals announcing his departure.

The next morning they'd packed up the car. He'd wanted to go visit, but there hadn't been enough time, and regardless he didn't know what to say. Had gone over it all the previous evening, staring blankly at the television while the rest of the family had laughed at Father Ted and he'd tried to figure out what it all _meant_.

They'd been pulling out when Mark had skidded up on his bike.

He'd pulled to a stop, it almost falling onto it's side when he tried to step off on the hill behind the cottage. Nicky had stared out the window. Mark had stared back, lips parted, like the words were just there. Then he'd closed his mouth, lifted his hand in a wave, and climbed back on the bike. Nicky had waved back, the glass between them, Mark too far away to reach.

The rest of the family didn't see him. Nicky didn't ask them to stop.

Then Mark was gone, back over the hill and out of sight.

 

*

 

The drive felt different this year.

It played out the same as ever. Gone early, breakfast at the same roadside diner they always stopped at. Nicky had eggs on toast. He ate them slowly, a twist in his stomach that had tightened the last few weeks, slowly choking him until food was too hard to get down. Excitement. Nerves. The sense of anticipation he always felt had a barb in it, one that caught whenever he thought about it. Whenever he thought about Mark's mouth. The smell of him. The taste. The agonising _want_ that had rippled through him more violently than the waves that had crashed around their feet.

Over eleven months of thinking about it, and he was still no closer to figuring it the hell out.

The air was clean when he folded himself out of the car. A bright day, a rarity for Sligo when it was usually cloudy and threatening rain. His mam groaned behind him, stretched. His brother asked if they could have lunch.

Nicky looked out over the water, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Back again,” his dad said. Nicky nodded. A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezed. “Suppose there won't be many of these left.”

“Gillian still comes,” Nicky pointed out. His dad nodded. His sister was arriving in a few days, hadn't been able to get three weeks off work, though she'd said she'd pop up for as long as she could. “I'll always want to come.”

“I know.” He paused. “Going to go off and find your mate, then?”

“Mark?” Even saying his name hurt a little bit, a velvet pang below his ribs. “I guess, yeah.” He tried not to sound too eager. His dad smirked. “We'll get things unpacked. It's three weeks. I'm sure we'll catch up.”

“Sure you will.” His dad pulled away. Nicky heard the click of the car boot opening behind them.

Then, with one last look at the raging sea, he turned to help with the bags.

 

*

 

“Can we go get ice-cream?”

Nicky was about to tell Adam to ask Gillian, like he usually did, then realised that wasn't an option. He supposed maybe he should feel guilty. He usually snuck off with Mark, left them to their own devices. She had local friends too, probably hadn't loved dragging Adam around everywhere.

They all went, once they were settled. His mam said he could go off and meet up with his friends, if he wanted, but Nicky said no, that he'd come with them. Maybe he was prolonging seeing Mark.

It had been a whole year, and he still couldn't figure out what to say.

He hoped Mark knew.

Hoped Mark would say what, in his most secret of hearts, Nicky desperately needed to hear.

 

*

 

Maybe it was silly, but something in Nicky had always loved Mark, a little. He'd never thought of it as romantic, not really, but there was something perfect and fragile in it. They didn't speak the rest of the year, except for dropping birthday cards in the post, but when they saw each other Nicky always felt like the time spent apart hadn't existed, like it had just been a long breath between visits, that they all ran together in one comfortable moment.

The last year had felt different. Especially long. Tugged out like a stretching piece of toffee, waiting to snap but just sinking heavier and thinner, fraying like Nicky's nerves.

He didn't think he was gay. He'd been out with girls, had slept with one the year before though she'd dropped him a month later. It had stung, but there were other girls. He'd dated a couple of those too, hadn't gone that far, though not for lack of trying. Had thought about boys as well, to see if there was that feeling too. That jolt.

He didn't think he liked boys.

Still, late at night and tucked into his bed, the house asleep around him, he'd...

Red lips and sandy fingers. Shy eyes looking up and clothes that smelled of sun cream and warmth. Mark's hands were unsteady, but they burned on his skin, Mark breathing against him, that little helpless whine in his ear.

He'd still gotten a birthday card, three months later. It hadn't held any answers. Just 'to Nicky, Happy Birthday, from Mark'.

He'd sent the same, five months before. Had wanted to write something in it. Something real. Change the 'to' to a 'dear', or the 'from' to 'love'. Had hesitated with the pen above the card, warring with indecision before chickening out, written the same thing since he'd first sent one when he'd been twelve, gotten a reply on his thirteenth birthday printed in a careful, slightly messy hand, one of Mark's weird doodles scribbled on the front.

He'd wanted to call when he'd gotten the internship. The one they'd talked about the year before, Nicky saying it was down to him and three other people, working at the local radio station. The call had come and the first thing he'd done after thanking them profusely and hanging up was start to dial Mark's number.

Then he'd stopped.

He didn't know if he was gay.

He wasn't sure if it mattered.

“Nicky?”

He looked up, realised he'd been lost in his own thoughts. His mam smiled.

“In a world of your own?” she teased. He realised they were waiting for his order. He asked for a triple chocolate, accepted the cone when it was passed out. His dad paid, and they were off again, across the parlour parking lot and down the grassy embankment, the breeze sifting through his hair and the smell of salt water filling his lungs.

The beach was packed. First week of summer holidays, families everywhere, lads jogging past with surfboards. He thought he recognised one of them as a boy Mark knew, but wasn't entirely sure. They ate their ice-creams sat up on the ridge, everyone talking and laughing and his dad mentioning that this was the life. All of them carefree. Content.

A trickle of ice-cream ran down the back of his hand. He licked it off. A couple of little kids ran past, shouting and shoving, a football buffeted ahead of them. Adam watched with interest.

“Can I?”

“Go on,” his dad chuckled. His brother dashed away, kicking up sand. It was cute. Stopped in front of the lad in charge, looking shy as he spoke, then laughed as the ball was kicked his way. Nicky smiled.

He and Mark had done the same thing, once upon a time. Running up and down the beach, Nicky with the ball more often than not, Mark laughing and trying to trip him. Wrestling on the sand. It had been easy. Always easy.

Maybe it still could be. Maybe it could just be one of those weird things, written off as a mistake.

It got into the afternoon as they sat there. Eventually Adam's new friends got called home, and he came trotting back breathlessly. Nicky helped pack up the towels. He'd meant to have a swim, but the time had gone missing somewhere along the way.

It stayed light out until late. Nicky went to bed with a heavy feeling in his stomach, eyes closed against the pillow and wondering if Mark had realised he was here yet.

 

*****

 

“Back again, are ye?”

Nicky had to search for the lad's name for a moment. They'd met before, definitely. Schoolmate of Mark's, though Nicky thought they'd only spoken once or twice, usually when getting food. “Shane. Hey.”

“Hey.” He got a friendly grin. “Social call?”

“Mam's sent a list.” He fished it out of his pocket. He'd been ordered out to get lunch, had offered to pedal the five minutes to Sligo town. There were closer chippers, but Mark and Nicky had always come here, and there was a bit of sentimental value. His eyes had scanned the place as he'd come in, anyway, heart sinking slightly when he hadn't seen a familiar dark head.

Shane rang it all up, told him to take a seat if he wanted. Nicky sat. Thought about nipping over to Mark's, but it was twenty minutes in the other direction and he had hot food to retrieve.

He ached.

He hadn't slept well, head thick with confusing dreams and the smell of seawater. Had woken up with a stiffy and lain there, staring at the wall, until it had gone away, wishing he could feel hot kisses mouthing up the back of his neck, arms around his waist.

Those thoughts hadn't helped.

Shane brought the parcel over when it was ready. Nicky stood, slid it into his backpack, and slung it back on, already able to feel the heat of the greasy paper bundle through his shirt.

“Thanks.” He turned towards the door. Hesitated. “You... haven't seen Mark around, have you?”

“Mark? No. Not since school let out. I think he was talking about going away with his family this year. They've got cousins in Mayo.”

“Oh.” Nicky's heart sank. “Okay. Thanks.” He turned away to hide his expression. Suspected it was more devastated than he cared to admit. “I'll see you round.”

He peddled back slowly. His stomach hurt. A low aching that tasted like tears on his tongue. The breeze caught his loose clothes as he turned out of town and headed toward the beach, and for a moment he felt as insubstantial as a twig, as though he could be blown away and into the leaf litter with no-one to notice.

He didn't eat much. After dinner he went to sit in the rocks down by the water, feet in the foam. It was a chilly night, the stars coming out and pricking the sky between the slow traffic of grey clouds.

Part of him waited for Mark to come. To sit down and join him, in the last place they'd really been together. To hear the whir of pedals and the skid of gravel as Mark pulled up. Instead it was just the sea and the occasional rush of passing cars on the narrow road at the top of the hill.

A wave broke over his toes. A quiet spot. A little alcove of pointed, weathered boulders piercing the grassy incline, just enough space between to make a safe journey. Mark had always preferred the woods to the beach. Said it was peaceful. Nicky had understood. He'd always preferred the sea, himself. The impetuous rage of it, pushed by something relentless and constant.

The wood was full of places to hide. The beach was open, spread flat by wind and spray.

He closed his eyes. Felt a mouth touch his. The nervous tremble of it, the taste of salt. Their hands colliding awkwardly as they'd both reached.

They hadn't said anything. Nicky hadn't known what to say. Now, a year to think on the words, there were so _many_ of them. A pink feeling of being too _young_ for this. That anything he tried to say would sound like an impetuous, stupid boy who didn't understand what he was doing.

Nicky leaned his chin in his palm, looking out at the horizon.

“Nicky?”

“Down here!” He stood. Waved back to his mam stood at the top of the ridge, a small silhouette in front of the porch lights. “I'm coming!”

He clambered around the rocks, started the climb. Sand shifted under his feet, dry and loose.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” He realised his cheeks were wet. Wiped them as though he wasn't sure where the tears had come from. “Caught a wave full in the face.”

Behind her his brother complained that he didn't _want_ to go to bed, while his dad rolled his eyes and looked like he couldn't quite be bothered to argue. Not while they were on holiday.

“Nicky?”

“Sorry.” He shook himself. “Mam. Um.” He glanced at his dad. “I might go for a ride if that's alright?”

“It's very late.”

“Oh.” After ten. “That's okay. I'll go in the morning.” Neither of them moved. When he looked back she realised she was studying him.

“Take a jacket,” she said finally.

He nodded, and went to retrieve one.

  
  


*

  
  


The darkness seemed to split around his front wheel as he pedaled into town. White lines darting at him, swallowed up behind him. Occasional bright blasts of blindness when cars passed him. The streets were quiet. Sunday night. A few scattered groups out the front of clubs and restaurants, larger groups of younger people who were obviously on holiday from school or university and didn't have to get up early the next morning.

He slowed when he saw brown hair, a red hoodie, about the right height. Sped up again when he realised it wasn't Mark.

He wasn't sure where he was going. Passed the Carlton, closed but the lights in the house upstairs still on. Passed the shuttered Record Room. The ride had taken almost half an hour, slowed by the darkness, and it'd be almost midnight before he made it back as it was. He wondered if he should have asked to take the car but he was still on his Learners and wasn't entirely comfortable driving at night yet.

A fools errand, obviously. He didn't know what he'd expected to find.

He swung down a side street. Keep going this way and he'd end up at Mark's within another twenty minutes. Almost an hour back again. It wasn't worth it. He could try in the morning.

His feet sped up. Thighs burning. The houses and shops were left behind, fields closing in on the road. Every streetlamp was a spilling oasis of light. His mam would be worried about him.

Mark's house.

He heard it before he saw it, saw it easily once he rounded the corner. Thumping bass and every window lit up. The front door was open, kids spilling out onto the lawn. Nicky hadn't been there often, but it was on a decent amount of land, the back garden stretching into fields beyond.

When he pulled up he coughed in the cloud of smoke. Three girls looked up, cigarettes dangling from each of their right hands, pre-mixed bottles in their lefts.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” This wasn't Mark's house. Not quiet, sweet Mark, who was more interested in reading a book in a treehouse than being the centre of attention. “Ehm. Is Mark in?”

“Who?”

“Mark. Feehily.” They exchanged looks. “This is his house.”

“I thought Freddie lived here.” She looked over her shoulder. “Probably. Kian invited me.” She lifted her cigarette to match the girls on either side of her, and didn't say much else.

The front path felt suddenly longer. Mark's house. Normally quiet, the sound of crickets in the undergrowth and the distant bleating of sheep muted by a Daft Punk song pounding an escape through the open front door.

“Sorry.” He pushed past a couple necking in the front hallway. They didn't hear him, but shifted slightly to the side when he bumped them. “Er.” Two girls dashed past, laughing. “Sorry.” He caught a lad who was carrying an armload of beer bottles through to the living room. “Do you know where Mark is?”

“Who?” He was sucked up by the crowd.

“You looking for Freddie?” a girl slurred.

“Mark.”

“Yeah, thas 'im.” She pointed toward the kitchen. Nicky peered through. Couldn't see for the mess of people, then felt his breath catch when he heard a deep, breathless laugh.

Mark.

Taller. Broader, somehow. He'd always been bigger than Nicky, but a lot had changed in a year. A final growth-spurt, the last flush of puberty. His hair was longer, flopping around fuller cheekbones holding climbing stubble at bay. Shoulders squarer, a black t-shirt clinging to what had always been a little soft but now looked solid, spattered chest hair peeking from the collar.

He'd grown up.

Nicky couldn't find the words. Couldn't decide if what he felt was relief or panic. While Mark lifted a glass to his lips and took a long swig of what probably wasn't just cola, tongue sweeping out to catch an errant drop.

He laughed again. Another lad slapped him playfully on the back. A bunch of them in a circle, talking about something, boys and girls. The song changed and one of them whooped, shouted something about it being his song, and ran toward the stereo to turn it up. Nicky stepped out of his way.

When he looked back again Mark was staring at him.

Nicky raised a hand in a weak wave. Mark swallowed.

Then he turned back to the conversation, as though Nicky wasn't there at all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Nicky murmured. His mam nodded, ran her fingers gently through his hair. “Just... sorry I worried you.”

“It's alright. Call next time?” she added. Nicky nodded. It was almost two in the morning. He'd stumbled in ten minutes before, found both of them sitting at the kitchen table, faces relieved and full of questions. He hadn't been able to answer them. Had just gone upstairs to climb into bed, slipped down the hall so as not to wake his sleeping brother, and been busy crying silently when his mam had come in and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

He lay there like that for a while, her stroking his hair soothingly until he closed his eyes. When he opened them again it was light. He could smell butter and sausages.

He came down to the table set and his brother carefully filling their glasses with juice.

“Morning,” his dad yawned on the way past. His mam glanced over her shoulder, then went back to flipping pancakes.

“Morning.” Nicky blinked the sleep and dried tears out of his eyes. Ducked into the downstairs bathroom to splash some water on his face. When he looked up from wiping off with the towel his eyes were red from crying, dark with tired circles. He felt small. Carved out like a rotten pumpkin with the candle melted and thrown away.

After breakfast, he cried in the shower. Sat in the well at the bottom and sobbed. Not for Mark, so much, but for himself. For every scene he'd invented in the last year, every held breath as they'd made their way closer to Sligo.

This had been the worst scenario. The one where they weren't even friends any more. Where Mark didn't want to know him, because Nicky had...

Because Nicky was...

Whatever the fuck he was that meant his heart was breaking.

“Nicky?”

He looked up. Realised he'd been sat on the edge of the bed, towel knotted around his waist, for longer than he'd realised. His hair was half-dry, going fluffy. He suspected the sheet beneath him was damp.

“Hey.” His brother was lurking in the doorway. “What's going on?”

“Mam says we're going into town for groceries if you want to come?”

“Ehm.” He looked down at himself. Nothing was going to be gained by sitting here stewing in his own misery. “Yeah. Cool. I'll get dressed.” He didn't move. His brother didn't either. “Alright?”

“What are you sad for?”

“Nothing. I'm just...” He wanted to burst into tears again, suddenly. Adam was looking at him nervously, and there was nothing to tell him that would make any of it better. “I'm tired.” His brother pursed his lips. “It's alright. I'll take a nap later and be right as rain again.”

“Will you play skittles with me after? There's a set in the cupboard.”

Nicky chuckled. “I'd love to.” Adam beamed, then retreated into the hall.

“Mam! He's coming with us!” he bellowed. Nicky laughed. Footsteps barrelled down the stairs, thudded when they hit the landing in a jump.

Nicky pushed himself up and went to find some clothes.

  
  


*

  
  


The supermarket was reasonably busy for a Monday morning. A lot of harried families with kids, grabbing provisions for the long school holiday starting. It seemed to take forever. They ran into people his parents knew and ages was spent catching up and making plans to meet at the pub. He felt like an oddity. The summer people who drifted in every year with the tide.

“...isn't that right, Nicky?”

“Sorry.” He realised he'd been lost in his own thoughts. His dad was looking at him, as well as a couple he could passing remember. “What was that?”

“You're working at the radio station.”

“Oh... yeah.” His dad beamed. “I'm erm. I've got an internship. Three days a week.”

“Will you be on the radio, then?”

“I doubt it,” he chuckled. “Mostly just doing like... research for segments and taking calls and sorting CDs and stuff.” And he was starting his Leaving Cert three days a week at the local college. It was going to be manic. He'd promised his mam, though. If he wanted to drop out of full time secondary he had to get his qualifications at least.

It hadn't been a difficult decision. He'd been distracted at best, and his marks hadn't been anything to get excited about. Then the internship had come up. A _real_ opportunity to do what he wanted instead of sitting around slogging through algebra.

“Ah, he'll be running the RTE sport programme before we know it,” his dad chuckled proudly. “Doubt they could find anyone better.”

“Dad...” He felt himself blush. His mam gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “We're not getting ahead of ourselves.”

“I remember he and his friend, they made these little tapes together when they were small. Pretending he was a famous popstar and Nicky doing the interviews. Think we've still got them somewhere.”

“Have to find them,” his mam added. “Could be worth something when he's famous.”

“Not sure where they ended up,” Nicky fibbed. He knew. Of course he did. In the bottom of his wardrobe at home, beneath a jacket of Mark's he'd borrowed when he'd been fifteen and forgotten to give back, had found in the bottom of his suitcase when he'd unpacked. He knew it by heart.

“ _Now that your first single's gone number one, what's next for Mark Feehily?”_

“ _Erm.”_ A soft laugh that had begun to deepen the year later. _“I mean, I guess I want to do concerts and stuff. That'd be grand. Singing in front of all those people. Like Michael Jackson.”_

“ _You think you could be bigger than Michael Jackson?”_

“ _No. I mean... I don't want to be bigger than him. People wanting to know about you all the time or whatever. Er.”_ A faint swallow. _“But like, he writes all these songs and stuff and like, I like that part of it, basically. The bit where you get to do this thing and then show people and then they like it and it's like everyone's, like, singing along and stuff. If you know what I mean.”_

“ _Because it's like being part of something?”_

“ _Yeah.”_ A little breathless from forcing out all the words quickly. _“Because you can do something you like doing. Love doing. You can sing and everyone else feels it. You get to say things. Like um, like that song Man in the Mirror?”_

“ _You want to say things with your songs?”_

“ _Yeah.”_

“ _What do you want to say?”_

“ _Um. I'm not sure yet.”_ Self-conscious laughter that Nicky had echoed gently. _“Erm. I guess when I figure everything out I'll write it all down, you know? Or sing it. Then I'll know.”_

“ _Well, your fans are looking forward to it. That was Mark Feehily everyone! His new single's out now, available at all good record stores. Thanks for coming in Mark.”_

“ _Yeah. Cheers for having me Nicky.”_

“ _And now to news and weather...”_

He realised he was smiling distantly at the pasta sauces when his brother tugged on his sleeve. Looked down. His parents were halfway up the aisle, their friends gone.

“What you looking at?”

“Nothing.” He scooped his brother up awkwardly, wrestled him a few steps, though he was getting too big to pick up properly now, all arms and legs. Nicky had a feeling he'd be taller than any of them once he hit his stride.

“Let me go!”

“I can't! We're glued!”

“Nicky!” Adam squealed when Nicky dropped him. “Messed up my hair,” he grumbled.

“Oh, did I?” Nicky mussed it with both hands. Adam kicked him in the shin. “Ow.”

“Serves you right.” He ran away to catch up with their parents, slicking his hair down as best he could. Nicky caught up, smirking when his dad rolled his eyes.

“Boys...”

“I didn't do anything,” Nicky said innocently. His mam elbowed him in the side.

They were crossing the parking lot when he saw Mark.

Nicky stopped. Didn't think the others had seen him, but there he was, backpack over his shoulder and headphones in, ancient walkman peeking out of his back jeans pocket. As Nicky watched he disappeared through the automatic doors.

“Um.” He hesitated for a moment. His parents were loading the bags into the back of the car. “I... think I left something behind. Just a minute.” He jogged off without waiting for their response. The doors opened again, closed behind him.

There was Mark, looking into the ice-cream freezer.

“Hey.” Nicky stopped in front of him. Eyes shot up. Widened. One hand reached up to tug out his ear-buds, which settled to dangle around his neck. Nicky could taste his own heartbeat.

“Oh er. Hi.” His face was unreadable. “Nicky.” Blue eyes darted away. “What are you doing here?”

“It's my holidays.” It came out weakly. “We were getting groceries.” Mark was nodding as though he'd just been told the sky was blue, had bent to rummage in the freezer for a tub. “I... thought we should talk?”

“About what?”

“About.” He swallowed. “Are you angry at me?”

“Why would I be angry at you?”

“Last night. You didn't...”

“Last night?” It sounded confused, but Nicky saw red creep into his cheeks. Guilt into his eyes. “What happened last night?”

“You...” He felt numb. If Mark noticed his expression he didn't comment. Just continued staring determinedly at the ice-cream. “I'm sorry. About last year. It didn't...”

“What happened last year?”

“Mark...” His voice cracked. Teeth dug into Mark's bottom lip, a twitch into the corner of his mouth. “Please talk to me. Why are you being...” He was shocked when Mark stepped around him, headed to the next aisle. “But.”

“I'm really busy today,” Mark said flatly, when Nicky caught up. Nicky grabbed his arm.

“Mark...”

“Don't _touch_ me,” Mark snarled, shoving him away. Nicky reeled back. “Nicky, can you just...” His fists were clenched. Then they loosened, slowly, a sigh forcing out. “Could you grow up? It was fun when we were kids, but I'm over this... this thing.” He gestured between them. “Are you obsessed with me or something?”

“No. I just...”

“Have a good holiday.” Mark put the ice-cream down on the closest shelf, rolled his eyes, and headed back for the front door.

Then he was gone.

Nicky swallowed his tears, put the ice-cream back in the freezer so it wouldn't melt, and went back to the car.

  
  


*

  
  


The afternoon closed in with a cold breeze and the threat of rain.

Nicky wasn't melodramatic enough to think it was his mood causing the weather. That seemed like an entirely self-absorbed concept that only happened to people in movies, the sorts where someone would be heartbroken, and then the other person would stand in the rain outside their window and apologise, and then there'd be violins, and damp snogging.

He'd never enjoyed those sorts of movies, particularly. His mam liked them. They all just seemed too self-important, like everything was about these two eejits blocking traffic while everyone else tried to get in before the storm.

He didn't feel important at all. Felt small. Like every breath was shrinking him away until eventually he'd disappear with a soft _pop_ of collapsing atoms.

“Think it's a shepherd's pie sort of evening,” his dad pointed out. Adam looked interested already.

“Nicky said he'd play skittles with me.”

“Not in this weather he won't,” Nicky said. It was already starting to drizzle. “Nicky's going to have a hot bath.”

“Nicky can help me get the fireplace going,” his mam added. Nicky pouted. “It won't take long, then you can stay in the bath until you wrinkle up like an old sheep.” His brother snickered. “Help me out while your dad starts on dinner.”

“Fine,” he sighed, though he didn't mind really. Shepherd's pie and a warm hearth sounded perfect. “Ya know, at your age you think you'd be able to do this yourself.” He yelped when he got a playful slap.

“Watch your mouth,” she chuckled. He grinned and crouched down to begin feeding logs into the fire. “Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Anything you like.” Nicky realised his brother had slipped out to pester his dad in the kitchen. It was quiet in here, except for the rain and the tick of the clock in the hall. “Something I don't know.”

He shrugged. “Like what?”

“I don't know.” She touched his hair gently. “You used to come in from school when you were small and sit on the kitchen counter while I made tea and tell me all the things you learned that day.”

“Bet that was annoying.”

“It was my favourite part of the day.” She gave him a wink. “I remember when you told me that scorpions can hold their breath for a week.”

“I'd forgotten that one,” Nicky admitted.

“I hadn't.” She smiled. “My little boy was always interesting. Talked his head off, but I suppose that's why they're putting you on the radio.”

“They're not...” He sighed. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“They will. I know you. Once you're in the door you won't stop until you're doing the biggest show in Ireland. Then you'll get sick of that and end up on the telly as well. You set your mind to things.”

He snorted. His mam was right, in a way. He'd always been the one charging ahead, organising everyone and talking his way in and out of what he wanted. Charming, his third year teacher had said. His fourth year teacher had told him he needed to sit down and pay attention if he didn't want to get detention after school.

He'd always felt in control. And when he didn't, he took control.

Mark made him feel helpless. At the mercy of stupid emotions that had crept up over long years and torpedoed in an instant every sense of who he was.

“Honey?”

“Sorry. Erm.” He bit his lip, trying to think of something else. “When tennis was invented you played it with your hands instead of a racquet.”

“Isn't that just handball?”

“Probably,” he conceded. “Except like... bigger.”

“When did they start using racquets?”

“Dunno. When their hands started to hurt, probably.” Her laugh dragged a smile out of him too, if only for a moment. Mark liked tennis. Was shite at most other sports, but he liked tennis.

His smile fell.

“Whatever it is, it's going to be alright,” she said softly. He nodded, wished he could agree with her. Knew in the back of his mind that it probably was. It didn't make it hurt any less. “I wish I could fix it for you. All I can tell you is everything passes in the end. We're always here to talk about it until it does.”

“I know.” He bit his lip. “Mam. Ehm.” She was looking at him kindly, and he wanted to tell her. Didn't know what to tell her. Not when he didn't know for sure, how to put a name onto something that wasn't happening anyway, that he didn't know how to define in himself. “Maybe we could go somewhere else next year?”

“Where would you like to go?”

“I dunno. Just... we always come here and maybe there's other places we could go? Like, maybe we could spend a few weeks in the UK, or... or France or something.” Not Sligo. He couldn't do this again.

“I suppose so.” She pursed her lips. “This was good for when you kids were small, but now you're older maybe we could go somewhere more grown up.” He nodded in agreement. “What about your friends?”

_What about them?_ he wanted to say. Instead he struck a match and touched it to the kindling.

 


	3. Chapter 3

They played boardgames in front of the fire that evening. His brother was put out about skittles, but it was coming in hard, and Nicky reminded him they had three weeks left to get a few games in. That seemed to cheer him up. Winning at Cluedo didn't hurt things either.

The next morning dawned drizzly. There was no point trying the beach, so they went to the cinema instead to see Twister. It was a good laugh, grand special effects. A few times he heard his mam gasp beside him.

When they left he was in a better mood. His brother was babbling about the bit with the flying cow between mouthfuls of leftover popcorn. Nicky stole a handful. They turned into the pub next door to get some lunch, and though Adam swore he was full on popcorn he still ordered a kids fish and chips and a chocolate sundae.

“Not a bad rainy day in,” his dad observed. “Shall we stop and pick up a video on the way home?”

It was a resounding yes. Nicky got up to go to the bathroom before they left again, bladder full on lemonade.

When he came back out he was face to face with Mark.

He stopped. Blinked. Hadn't seen it on the way in with how the hallway curved, but there he was, his face pinned to the wall in black and white, a poster inviting people to the Hawks Well theatre that night, tickets running out fast. Sligo's best acts, a charity gig for the local hospital, headlined by rock act Skrod.

Skrod?

Nicky leaned closer. Mark, pouting at the camera in a black t-shirt with a skull and crossbone pattern, flanked by a few other lads. The one beside him had stringy blonde hair and a guitar in his hands.

He didn't look like Mark. Looked like someone else. Someone more serious, darker. Awkward sexual energy and eyes that peered out from black smudges of what appeared to be eyeliner.

His folks were standing up when he finally tore himself away and headed back to the table. His mam passed him the wallet he'd left on the seat.

Nicky stepped outside, mind racing.

  
  


*

  
  


It was still pissing down when seven o'clock came.

Nicky wasn't sure what his plan was, exactly. Or even if he had a plan. Still, somehow he'd ended up dressed. Done it slowly, sneaking in and out of his bedroom and casually doing his hair, maybe hoping that if he bottled it he could just pretend he'd put on a jeans and jacket because he was chilly, slowly put his pyjamas back on and sit down on the sofa to watch Sister Act as though nothing had happened.

He was peering out the window, watching the rain sheet down when his dad put a hand on his shoulder.

“Need a ride somewhere?”

He thought about lying. But there was no way he was going to make it on his bike in this weather. Had taken that as a sign, that things weren't meant to be. That it was better if he just stay in and leave Mark alone.

Fifteen minutes later his dad pulled up in front of the Hawks Well. There was nowhere to park. Despite the weather the streets were packed with cars. Some idling and letting out passengers, but most lining the streets.

“Better if I don't ask questions?”

He thanked his dad, climbed out, and ran. Through the rain, up the front steps. There were other people there too, shivering and laughing, holding their hoods up to keep their hair dry. Lots of girls his age, plenty of lads too. They all seemed in good spirits.

He just hoped there'd be tickets left

  
  


*

  
  


It was at five minutes to eight that Nicky sidled into the back of the hall. Standing room only, of course. Not that he minded. Probably easier, hidden at the back, pretending he wasn't there at all. If Mark couldn't see him, he couldn't get that look in his eyes. The one Nicky had seen earlier. Lies and dismissal.

Skrod were on last. The other acts were alright in the meantime. A girlband, then a singer who fancied himself to be the next Bryan Adams. A decent enough emcee who reminded them that a percentage of the tickets were going to charity and to feel free to give more on the way out. A comedian came up and did a small set.

Then the stage was dark, the curtains drawn. There was a rumble of excitement. The girl next to him giggled something to a friend. Nicky realised he hadn't stopped biting his nails for an hour.

The lights came back up. Four lads clutching instruments, trying to swagger despite standing still. The one with the stringy blonde hair was at the front, hunched broodingly over his guitar.

“ _Kiaaaaaaaan!”_

“ _Kian I love yooooou...”_

He smirked. There was a clatter of drums, then a loud, rushing chord that seemed to come with an absent flick of his wrist. The girls around went hysterical. Nicky laughed, not sure what to make of it all. Then the chant started.

“ _Freddie... Freddie...”_

Rising slowly. Pounding until it was stomping feet and clapping hands, sucking all the air from the room. Freddie. He'd heard it before, at the party, thougth it was strange at the time but had just passed it off as a drunk girl being slightly confused.

Then Mark stepped out on stage, a microphone in his hand, as though he'd picked it up on the way in and accidentally wandered into a roomful of screaming girls.

Nicky felt his breath catch.

Chin-length hair raked to one side, eyes dark with liner. Baggy t-shirt and a leather jacket over tight jeans. It didn't look like Mark.

Then he looked up, and Nicky saw pink cheeks, expressive blue eyes. A lip-bitten pout that was nerves and excitement at the same time.

They were still chanting.

Kian played another loud chord as the keys and drums kicked in.

“ _Hello... I've waited here for you...”_

Nicky gulped, though it was lost in the shriek around him. A Foo Fighters song, one he knew well enough from the radio. It wasn't Mark. Mark was soul and blues, weird tracks Nicky had never heard with complicated funk beats and voices that shouldn't be able to do _that_ but somehow could. Mark was...

Mark was killing it, actually.

Nicky found himself moving forward. Not by much, with the press of people, but a sense of gravitation. The whole audience felt it. A sucking shuffle two steps toward the stage. The girls around him were screaming. Two lads in front of him began to head-bang furiously when it hit the chorus. Nicky stood with his mouth open while Mark crooned under a spotlight.

It blurred into another song. A third. The other lads were playing up, bouncing around the stage, mucking around with the drummer. Kian leaned in to share the microphone for the final chorus, both of them screaming into the microphone. Then it dropped and it was just Mark, stood there, Nicky lost in an audience gone wild.

“Hey, Sligo, how's it going?” Halfway between a mumble and a laugh. “Here's one we wrote.”

It slowed down. Nicky stared. Ten minutes later, the five of them blasting their way through Hand In My Pocket while everyone chanted the lyrics, he realised he was crying.

He went to push out. But it was too crowded. He made it less than a metre during the next song, wiped his eyes when he realised he was stuck here until the end, trapped in a special hell designed just for him. Where Mark was up there being perfect and Nicky was down here, so proud it broke his heart.

“ _But I'm a creep... I'm a weirdo..._  
What the hell am I doing here?  
I don't belong here...

“ _I don't belong here..."_

“Thank you, Sligo!” Kian cheered. Mark was laughing beside him. “That's us for tonight but if you wanna meet us outside we'll be signing CDs for ya.” A ripple of excitement went through the assembled crowd. “If you've already got one, thanks for your support. If you don't, they're a tenner at the table.”

Then it was over, and Nicky was caught in the push for the doors.

  
  


*

  
  


When he got outside there was already a table set up, the five boys beginning to take their spots. Mark at the head, Kian at the other end, the other boys in the middle. They all looked sweaty. Exhilerated. The drummer and the bass-player were laughing over something. Nearby girls were forming a disorderly queue behind a mocked-up rope, knotted between two posts. A tall lad who was passing for security but couldn't be more than seventeen stood at the head.

The rain had stopped, at least.

“Nicky?”

He turned. Shane, stood nearby.

“Shane... hey.” He didn't want to be here. Had meant to come in like a shadow and leave again. Now Shane was motioning him over.

“Come for the show?”

“Yeah. Um.” He glanced over. Mark was talking to a girl, giving her that slightly baffled smile he got sometimes when he couldn't believe people were interested in what he was saying. “I thought he was away for the holidays?”

“Must've got my wires crossed,” Shane chuckled. “I knew his folks were away. Then Gillian reminded me about the gig.” He nudged the blonde beside him gently. “Sorry, this is my girlfriend Gillian. She's Kian's cousin.”

“Hiya.” Pretty girl, gave him a shy grin when he reached out to shake her hand. “You know Freddie?”

“Sort of.” He glanced over his shoulder again. “We just come for the summer. Know a few people about.” His chest hurt. He needed to leave before Mark saw him.

“You gonna get a CD signed?”

“I'm alright.” She looked crestfallen. “So, this been going on for a while, or?”

“Skrod? Yeah. I mean, the other lads have been doing it for years. Then after the musical Kian and Freddie got tight. It's gone crazy since. That was about six months ago.”

“Musical?”

“Yeah. Grease. It was here, actually. Shane was Danny. Freddie was Teen Angel and Vince Fontaine.”

“Why do you keep calling him Freddie?”

“Freddie. Mercury.” She laughed. “A few kids started calling him that as a joke, then it sort of stuck. I dunno. He's just Freddie now.” She looked towards the table. “It suits him. That voice and everything. I didn't know him at all. He was just the quiet kid.” She shrugged. “Good craic, though. There's talk they're getting courted by agents.”

“Seriously?” Nicky blinked. Shane nodded.

“I heard that too. The girls go mad for them.” He crossed his arms. “Gotta admit I'm jealous. Derrick's got about five lasses on the go.” Gillian punched him, laughing. “I'm kidding!” He pulled her in, though she struggled playfully. “We're off to meet some friends at the pub if you want to come?”

“I've gotta get back home,” he admitted. That, and he needed to be by himself. Suspected he was about to punch a wall and couldn't do it around strangers. “Thanks, though, er...” He looked over his shoulder again. There was a low-cut dress very close to Mark's face. “I'll see you?”

“See you round,” Shane agreed.

“Let me know if you want a CD,” Gillian added.

He promised he would. Turned around, not sure where he was headed, but sure it was in the direction of home.

Mark was looking at him.

He froze. Dark blue gaze, slightly confused behind the makeup. Nicky held his breath.

Then he tore his eyes away and began to look for a payphone.

  
  


*

  
  


“Good concert?”

Nicky nodded absently out the window. His mam was in the driver's seat, manoeuvering slowly through the cars trying to make it out of the street. Mark and his band had literally stopped traffic.

“Who was playing?”

“Just... some local bands.”

“You had to rush out for some local bands?” He shrugged, not sure how to say that he was sorry without explaining. “Are you on drugs?”

“Mam! No!” He turned, shocked, and realised she was already laughing. “Jesus Christ,” he managed, while she continued chuckling to herself. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“Imagine you on drugs,” she laughed. “Ah, love.” Her hand reached across to grope a pat at his shoulder without her taking her eyes off the road.

“I'm cool. I could be on drugs.”

“You're very cool,” she agreed, while he pouted. “Is it a girl? Is that why you've been sneaking around?”

“...no.” They pulled up at the lights. She was silent. Nicky stared out the window, watching the rain start to trickle down the glass again. He'd been waiting around the corner from the theatre when it had started again, just the lightest spit in the air.

They began to move again. He watched the wipers flick back and forth, a squeaky metronome.

“Is it a boy?”

He felt his breath catch. Turned to look at her. She was staring ahead of herself, eyes focused on the traffic.

“Mam...” He swallowed. She still wasn't looking at him. He couldn't read her face. “I don't know,” he admitted. “I just...” He leaned back in his chair, groaning. “Fuck.”

“Language.”

“I said 'shit' before.”

“Everybody gets one,” she observed. “Now you can behave like an adult because I don't want that sort of talk around your brother, and we're five minutes from the house.” Time seemed to stall as she turned the corner, then they were on the stretch toward Strandhill, the traffic thinning out. “You talk about it when you're ready. I just don't want you disappearing at all hours. Agreed?”

“Yes.” His face was burning. She pulled up at the lights. A hand settled on his knee, and when he looked up she was smiling at him.

“We love you,” she promised. He nodded, speechless. “I won't tell your dad if you don't want me to.”

“I don't know what to tell him,” Nicky admitted. “I don't even know if I'm...” He bit his lip. “Maybe I'm not. I just know it hurts and...” He breathed out slowly when he heard his voice crack.

“Is it Mark?”

“I... don't know any more,” he said softly. She nodded and didn't ask.

They turned up the drive to the house a few minutes later. The lights were still on, his brother apparently not in bed yet despite being almost eleven o'clock. He peered up through the glass and saw a silhouette peering back through the kitchen window.

“He wanted to stay up for you.”

“Oh.” An excited wave, then Adam dropped away. The front door opened as they parked.

“You're his hero.”

“I don't know that I'm much of a hero.”

“Course you are.” She reached over, and he fell into an awkward hug across the gear-shift. She kissed his hair. “I remember when he was born and you held him and said to me 'I'm going to be the best big brother ever'. Done alright so far.” She nudged him away, must have seen his dubious expression. “Go tuck your brother in. He'll be murder in the morning if he doesn't get enough sleep.”

“That's one thing I've taught him.”

“Go on with ya,” she laughed, and pushed her door open. Nicky did the same, snorting when his brother pulled a face and ran away. “Two things,” she added.

Nicky laughed and started up the path.

 


	4. Chapter 4

It was the crunch of gravel in the drive that woke him.

Not a surprise, his window directly over the car-port. It had always been a laugh when they'd been kids. He'd been eleven the first time Mark had clambered up the supports and knocked on his window.

They weren't supposed to. His dad said they were to stay off it, that it'd break if they kept it up. Still, every now and then Mark would come over, haul himself onto the top of the car-port, and climb awkwardly through the window. Then when his parents would wake and find the both of them sat on the floor playing Lego they'd ask if Mark's parents knew where he was. And he'd say yes, and Nicky's mam would pour an extra bowl of cereal for breakfast.

It was early. The sun already out, the days almost painfully long while summer crested, but not warm yet. A comfortable chill in the air that would thicken later into a salted breeze.

He lay there a long moment. Silence. A hot stillness that had him on edge, once-soft memory that had turned into a serrated knife-blade.

Then he climbed out of bed and went to the window.

A familiar bike, leant against the post at the foot of the drive.

A familiar boy sat on the wall beside it.

Nicky blinked away angry tears, not sure what to think. Mark was hunched, head in his hands. Torment, perhaps, or making a decision. He ran his hands through his hair, then rested them under his chin. Again. Like he was trying on different faces and couldn't make any of them fit.

Nicky held his breath. Thought about pulling the curtain, watching where Mark couldn't see. But he was past that. He wasn't hiding from Mark. Not any more. It was up to Mark to damn well look at him, if he'd come this far on his shitty old ten-speed with the blue paint half peeled away.

Mark stood. Went to pick his bike back up.

Then he stopped. Looked up at the window. Nicky reached for the latch.

He slid the window open and went back to bed.

  
  


*

  
  


It was five minutes later, his breath held while he stared at the wall from the cocoon of his duvet, that he heard the clatter of someone too heavy shimmying up the car-port.

A clatter of knee on a metal surface, creak of the window lifting a little more to allow him through. Mark wasn't eleven any more, squeaking through spaces. He was tall, and broad, and much more a man than seventeen years suggested.

Nicky closed his eyes. The window creaked shut.

“Um,” Mark murmured, close. “You wanted me to come in, yeah? Cos I can go.”

Nicky sighed, and rolled over. Mark was stood warily in the centre of his room, hands twisting in front of him. He looked nervous. A little damp from the morning dew slicking his jacket and jeans. He looked...

“Freddie,” Nicky said quietly. Mark bit his lip.

“Yeah.” His gaze dropped to his shoes. “So erm... it's been a weird year?” Nicky didn't reply. “I wanted to say I'm sorry. About the other day. It wasn't...” He breathed out slowly. “I dunno. I panicked.”

“What did you mean to do instead?”

“I... don't know.” His cheeks were flushing guiltily red. “Avoid you for three weeks, probably. I figured...” He sighed while Nicky felt his tears clog his throat.

“Avoid me,” he managed flatly. Mark shrugged. “We've been friends for...” He sat up in bed, wiping his face angrily when he felt a tear fall. “I'm sorry. About last year. But you sent me a birthday card, and...” It all felt so feeble. “Look, if you hate me, that's fine. At least have the spine to tell me to fuck off to my face.”

“It wasn't... that.” Mark was looking at his shoes again. “Things were just... they went manic and Kian started calling managers and stuff to see if we could do bigger things and... I just wanted to sing. I didn't mean for it to go this far.” He huffed awkwardly. “I was getting beaten up every other day and I didn't have any friends and then suddenly everyone wanted to know me and girls loved us and I... it was easier if I wasn't...”

His hands caught in tense fists by his side. Nicky waited for him to continue, heart a hammer in his chest.

“They'll hate me,” he murmured. Mark was looking up from under lowered lashes and for a moment everything was stopped.

“You've got me,” Nicky croaked. “I would have...”

“You're not here,” Mark replied. Nicky bit his lip. “You're not. You come for a little while and then leave me and it's awful. But things are better now and I'm finally...” He exhaled slowly. “You're not here,” he said again.

“I'm in love with you,” Nicky blurted.

Mark's face went from crimson to chalk within a blink.

“Oh,” he muttered. “Um.” It was Nicky's turn to be red. “Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don't be... erm...” Mark took two steps, then sat down heavily beside him. Nicky waited, legs crossed under the duvet, hair probably a sight. “Last year. I mean.” He shook his head. “I can't,” he said softly. “If anyone finds out, I'll...” He looked up at Nicky, finally, dark eyes brimming with tears. “It was all I ever wanted.”

“Yeah,” Nicky agreed. “You used to tell me. You wanted to be part of something.” He flattened his hair down, wiped his eyes. Wanted at least some fucking dignity if he was about to be given his marching orders. “I won't tell anyone.” Tried to make it sound firm. “If that's all you were worried about, I won't tell anyone.” He pushed out of bed, went to the window, and lifted it open again. “Nice knowing you.”

“Nicky...” Mark was still sat on the bed, hands folded in his lap. “I didn't mean...”

“What, are you obsessed with me or something?” Nicky shot back. Guilty hurt flashed across perfect features, and for a moment he almost felt bad. “Get out.”

“Nicky, would you...” Mark stood up as well. Nicky held his breath as he stepped closer. Taller than last year. Looking down at Nicky when he stopped inches away. “Stop and listen to me.” Nicky crossed his arms defiantly. “We've known each other for a million years and I'm sorry I was an arse to you the other day, but remember that time you kicked my new ball into a tree and it got stuck and got a hole in it? I forgave you, didn't I?”

“That's not the same as...” A laugh was infecting Nicky's voice. God fucking dammit.

“Remember that time you shoved me down that hill and I fell wrong and sprained my ankle and you cried for like twenty minutes because there wasn't a grown-up around and I had to practically carry both of us home?” Nicky caught his smile at the last minute and forced it into a scowl. “I've spent my entire fucking life forgiving you for stupid shit.”

“I forgive you for being an arse, then,” Nicky growled. Mark was laughing, and it wasn't _fair_.

“Thanks.” Fingers brushed Nicky's, poking out of the corner of his crossed arms. He looked down, saw them touch hesitantly to his. Looked up again to Mark's smile. “I miss you every year,” he said softly. “Last year you kissed me, and it was all I'd ever wanted.”

“Oh,” Nicky said helplessly. “Oh, right.” He blinked. Three quarters of his brain cells had shut down, blinking out one by one like a string of Christmas lights. “Why did you run away then?”

“Because I was scared out of my mind, you twat. You were leaving.”

“Yeah.” Nicky ran a hand over his face. His other had linked with Mark's somewhere along the line. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered. “Jesus...” He looked up. Mark was watching him carefully. “I won't tell anyone.” Mark nodded.

“Okay.” Their hands were still linked. He could taste Mark's breath. They'd already been close, just the barest sway and...

Nicky closed his eyes. A hand settled on his hip. He shuddered. Found an upper arm beneath a slightly damp jacket. A nose brushed his.

“Nicky are you...”

They froze. Nicky opened his eyes. Open door and his mam stood there, hand caught on the knob. Nicky swallowed, felt Mark sway in the other direction.

“Markus Feehily, does your mother know where you are?”

“Er... yes, Mrs Byrne,” Mark said sheepishly. “I rode my bike over.”

“You didn't climb up the car-port again?” His silence was guilt enough. “We have a perfectly good front door, lad. You're too old for that sort of mischief.” Mark mumbled something that might have been an apology. “Three pancakes?”

“Just... two please,” he managed.

“I've got the syrup you like,” his mam said sternly. Nicky was struggling not to laugh. She shot him a disapproving look, but he could tell she was trying not to laugh as well. “Five minutes. Nicholas, sort your hair out.”

The door closed.

“Um,” Mark said. Nicky covered his mouth to hide a laugh. “Um.”

“My hair's alright,” Nicky pouted.

“It's terrible,” Mark said absently. Nicky shoved him. “What happens now?”

Nicky shrugged and reached for the comb on his dresser.

“Guess we go have pancakes.”

  
  


*

  
  


“You're in the house all alone.”

“Yes. Um.” Mark was using all the table manners today. It was strange. Nicky kept watching him, as he carefully cut his pancakes into bite-size pieces. His elbows were even off the table. Nicky didn't know who he thought he was trying to impress. “We were all supposed to go away? And then we got offered the gig at the Hawks Well, and it was a bit late to cancel. They've seen us play before. I don't mind.”

“You're alright over there? You've got enough food and everything?”

“Yes. They gave me money for emergencies.” He glanced at Nicky, who didn't know how to interject without bursting into slightly hysterical laughter. “Um.”

“That's grand, that you're in a band.” His dad took over, which at least stopped the inquisition of second-hand mothering Mark was being subjected to. “I remember you two doing karaoke in the living room to that tape.” He chuckled. A dodgy old karaoke video they'd found at the Blockbuster with a dozen or so pop standards. Mark had always liked singing Uptown Girl. “And those microphones you made out of toilet tubes.”

“They were hi-tech,” Nicky pointed out.

“Aye, should whip you up a fresh set for Mark's lot. Better than the real thing.” Mark was laughing into his lap. He still looked unsure, a little shy, but he was relaxing. “What's the name of your band, lad?”

“Er...” Mark glanced at Adam, who was listening idly while he poured orange juice down his throat. “I don't know if I can say it.” Nicky's mam raised an eyebrow. “It's er... Dorks, but backwards?” His dad covered his mouth to hide a snort. “I didn't pick it, I promise.”

“A nice lad like you? Course you didn't,” his mam scolded playfully, though there was a laugh dancing in her eyes too. Mark was going red. “Might need to change that if you're wanting to go big. They won't want to print that on billboards above the M25 will they?”

“I did suggest that. Kian said it was edgy. He's our guitarist. Writes most of the songs as well. I just sing and stuff.”

“Surely you do more than that? Front man, aren't ya?” Nicky's dad clapped Mark's shoulder. “Ah it's alright lad, you'll sort yourselves out. And between that and Nicky working on the radio you'll have the entertainment industry cornered between the two of you. He tell you he got an internship?”

“No...!” Mark's eyes widened. “Really? Where at?”

“It's nothing. Just a small radio station operating out of the college. I can use it as credit toward my leaving cert.”

“It's more than that!” his mam scolded. “Beat out all the other people wanting it, didn't you? They loved your tapes.” Nicky shrugged, not wanting to make a thing out of it. Not now, while they were apparently having their awkward reunion over pancakes with his family. There were too many things to talk about, all better done in private, and he didn't know how to start. Not when he didn't know if they were going to see each other after this. Or if Mark was going. Off to bigger things where there wasn't room for the inconvenience of Nicky's feelings.

Fingers brushed his knee under the table. He stared into the puddle of syrup to hide his grin.

“You'll be great,” Mark said.

“Yeah, we'll see.” When he looked up it was into soft blue eyes that smiled at him. “Um. Well, if you give me a CD or something I can try to put Skr- put in a good word for your band?”

“I have...” The fingers left his knee. Nicky almost moaned out loud. Realised he'd been focusing on them more than he'd realised. When his eyes fluttered open again Mark was rummaging in the backpack beside his chair. “Here you go.”

“You just carry these around?”

“Kian said we have to. In case of fans.”

“Does that happen often?” Nicky chuckled. He took the case. Five boys hunched over their instruments, black shirts and ripped jeans, lots of stringy hair and makeup applied thick enough to hide pimples. Mark was pouting earnestly at the camera, head tilted to his shoes, eyes peering up from under a furrowed brow.

“More and more lately.” Mark went to take the CD away when he realised Nicky was studying it. “You don't have to...”

“Oh, I'm keeping this. Cheers.” Nicky held it up to appreciate it better, then passed it to his dad, who snorted. Mark was going crimson. “Sign it for me?”

“If you want,” Mark mumbled. Nicky's mam was peering at it now.

“What's it say on this lad's shirt?”

“Er...” From the way Mark was squirming it probably wasn't something Nicky's mam was going to say out loud. “It's um. I dunno.” She squinted, then her eyes widened. She snorted, passed it over Adam's head when he went to reach for it. Nicky took it back. “Um.”

Breakfast ended mercifully soon after that.

Nicky walked Mark down to his bike. A light breeze played through the fabric of his pyjamas, making him shiver.

“What happens now?” Nicky said softly, over the crunch of gravel. Mark shook his head.

“I have band practice in an hour.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know.” He glanced at Nicky. “I want to kiss you,” he murmured, making Nicky's heart leap. “I'm frightened if I do I won't stop, and then it'll kill me when you go. Worse than it did last time.” He huffed a frustrated sigh. “None of this is a good idea.”

“No, probably not.” They both nodded, a moment of agreement. “Jesus Christ, I want to kiss you again.”

“Yeah,” Mark laughed. His lip was red from nibbling at it, a nervous habit he was prone to when he was over-thinking something.

“Are we friends?”

“I hope so,” Mark breathed. Nicky nodded. “I really am sorry about the other day. I never meant...” He bent to pick up his bike. They'd been stood beside it for a few minutes now without acknowledging that Mark was leaving. “Come to mine around eight, if you want. I've got the house to myself. Maybe we can talk about it, or...” He was going red again. “I mean, not like, in that way. It's just... there aren't people there to interrupt. Talking.”

“Talking,” Nicky agreed. Mark swung his leg over the frame. “So, later then.”

“Later,” Mark agreed. “Um.” He grinned bashfully. “It's really good to see you again, Nick.”

“You too.” He touched Mark's shoulder gently. “I'll see you later.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

“They're not bad, are they?”

Nicky nodded. It was a surreal experience. All sat at the kitchen table playing cards while Mark's voice floated from the small portable CD player on the counter. Mark's mam had had a quick read through the tracklist to see if there was anything that looked inappropriate for Adam and then it had been on, all of them under orders to turn it off if they heard any bad words.

Nicky had a feeling they thought they were harder than they were. Still, for five country lads from the west of Ireland they were just on the right side of rock to feel rebellious for the boys, cute enough to attract the girls.

If they played it right and changed the name, they might even have a career ahead of them.

Nicky felt himself swell with pride, then played a Draw Four when he realised it was his turn. His dad scowled playfully next to him.

“Oh, cheers.”

“You're welcome.” They all paused when Mark hit a high, soaring note that pitched into impossible at the end.

“He's very good.”

“Yeah.” They were all looking at him. He wondered if he was supposed to have answers. Wasn't even sure what the questions were. Then his mam tapped the pile of cards. “Oh, sorry. Yellow.” His dad's foot was tapping under the table to the beat. “Is it alright if I go out tonight for a bit?”

“You went out last night,” his mam commented. “Uno.”

“Yeah. It's just... Mark and I thought we might hang out?” There was a sense of raised eyebrows from both of them, though neither of them moved. “We're just hanging out.”

“Be safe,” his dad said idly.

“Why are you red?” Adam asked.

“I'm not,” Nicky said quickly. “Just... it's warm in here. Is it warm in here?” He began to shrug off his jacket. Shivered when he realised how cold it was and stopped halfway through, not sure if he should reverse commitment on this thing and just put it back on. His mam decided for him.

“I win,” she announced. Adam groaned. There were at least nine cards in his hand. “Sun's coming out. Shall we go for a walk?” Nicky pulled his jacket back on gratefully. Adam threw his cards down and ran for the stairs to get his shoes. Mark was still wailing in the background.

“We're just going to...” he mumbled.

“We trust you,” his dad said softly. A hand settled on his shoulder, squeezed, then let go. “Just remember he's younger than you are. Be sensible.” Nicky nodded stupidly. “And while you're there grab another CD? I wouldn't mind one for the car.”

  
  


*

  
  


The day seemed to go for years. After a long walk they ended up at a playground Nicky had frequented when he was smaller. They spent some time there, mucking around on the monkey-bars, his brother playing with a slight self-consciousness that was almost aware he'd be too old for this by the next year.

They went home for lunch. Then it was sitting around, waiting for something to happen.

His sister was arriving the next morning. His mam was on the phone with her when Nicky finally pushed himself off the sofa and went upstairs to shower. He'd tried reading a book, but had just stared at the same lines over and over, not able to absorb them, his mind too busy racing.

There were words there. Ones he wanted to say. That he didn't know how to put in order so they'd make sense.

“Need a lift?” his dad asked.

“I'll ride my bike.” He hesitated on the bottom of the stairs. Hair still damp and wearing jeans, t-shirt and jacket he'd forced himself not to think about about too much in case he spent an hour agonising over every item of clothing he owned. “Not sure what time I'll be back. Then you don't have to pick me up.”

“Will you stay over?”

“I... don't know.” He scratched his arm. His dad was reading a magazine in front of the television. His mam was still on the phone. “Bye, so.”

“Call when you know what's going on.” He didn't look up. Nicky was glad.

His legs worked the pedals as he crested the hill and began to power towards town. A pale strip of lights that grew against the low sun until he was zipping past fences and onto smoother streets, between houses that narrowed into shops and restaurants. Then out the other side. Into the sunset and along the lanes of bush and hedge.

The house looked better in the light. Quiet. The bottles had been tidied away, the mess off the lawn. It looked like Mark's again. Peering down at him while Nicky carefully climbed the stairs.

The door opened before he could knock. Mark was biting his lip.

“Hey,” Nicky managed.

“Hey,” Mark replied. “Um.” He ran a hand through longish hair that made him look younger without it all flattened down with grease. “Come in?”

  
  


*

  
  


“My family liked your CD,” Nicky said stupidly, as they wound through the house. It was surprisingly tidy, considering Mark was here on his own and the party they'd had the other night. “Dad wants another one for the car.”

“Cool. Yeah.” They stopped in the kitchen. Nicky laughed. There was a candle on the table, a squat tea-light. “I made dinner?”

“Did you?” The oven was on. There was a tablecloth, and two places were set. “Is this a date?”

“No. Well... I wasn't sure. I thought.” He was going red. “Um. If you were coming over I didn't know if you'd eaten and er...” He glared slightly at the tea-light, as though it had embarrassed him. “We've been having blackouts lately, so just in case.”

“It's nice,” Nicky assured him. Mark gave him a shy grimace. “Thanks.” He touched Mark's arm gently, got a nervous grin in return that made his swelling heart flood a warm pulse of confusion through his body. “What are we having?”

Frozen pizza and chips was the answer. They came out alright, though some of the chips were a little bit black at the edges. Nothing that couldn't be fixed with plenty of ketchup of course. Mark poured him a glass of Coke then sat down across from him, chewing his lip.

“So,” Nicky said, after a moment's nervous silence. “How have you been?”

  
  


*

  
  


Dinner was friendly enough, as the evening closed in. After a few halting starts they managed something of a conversation, Mark's face dimming and lighting from the bottom as darkness fell and the candle caught the shadows. He looked beautiful. Older. Younger, at the same time. Something fragile and not quite balanced into adulthood yet, but so close there was no telling the difference.

Maybe it was the last year. There was more confidence there. Still rambling, dithering Mark of course, but he seemed tentatively assured. Spoke about the band in a way he hadn't about anything else. A determination that made Nicky sure that no matter what happened, this was his path.

He wondered if he was jealous. Of that sureness. Mark was a flower, caught in half-bloom, ready to burst into colour at the next rise of the sun. He was beautiful.

Nicky loved him.

“There's dessert,” Mark offered, as he cleared the plates away.

“Souffle?” Nicky teased. Mark punched him gently on the way to the fridge.

“Ice-cream.” He pulled out a tub. The same kind he'd abandoned at the supermarket. “Choc-mint okay?”

“Perfect.” Nicky waited patiently while Mark awkwardly levered two scoops into a bowl. “This is fun. I'm usually the one doing the taking out. Nice to be waited on.”

“Don't get used to it,” Mark chuckled. He passed Nicky a bowl, then sat down with his own. “Have you um... you been on many dates?”

“I had a couple of girlfriends.” There was no point lying about it.

“How was that?”

“Fine.” He glanced up at Mark, who was watching him earnestly. “How about you?” A silent shake of the head. “Thought there'd be girls interested, being in a band? Shane says they throw themselves at you.”

“Yeah. It didn't...” He bit his lip. “I don't think I like girls.”

“Oh.”

“You do, though?”

“I... yeah, I think so.” They both looked at each other awkwardly. “I mean. I dunno. I don't know if I like boys.” Mark nodded thoughtfully. “It's different. With you. Or... maybe it's that we've been friends for such a long time. I don't think of you being a boy.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Neither. I'm not...” Nicky sighed. “I slept with this girl a few months ago. It was good. Like, I didn't know what I was doing but I enjoyed the whole...” He gestured futilely. “Thing.” A flutter of a smirk twitched at Mark's mouth.

“Ringing endorsement.”

“I couldn't stop thinking about you,” Nicky said softly. When he chanced another look up Mark was biting his lip again. “Not like... that. Or not just like that but. What you were doing and thinking. I wanted to call so many times. I didn't know what to say.”

“Same,” Mark murmured. “I... called once. Right after our first gig. Nobody picked up and then after that I...” He shrugged. “I didn't know what to say either. Or, I did, but I didn't know how to say it. If I should say it. Or if it'd just ruin...” He sighed softly. Nicky's heart was hammering.

“I wished I'd saved it for you,” he admitted. Mark blinked at him, wide eyes and long lashes. Nicky's ice-cream was melting. “If I was going to fumble my way through it anyway, I wish...” A foot touched his under the table, making him smile. Mark smiled back. “Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Mark agreed. “How long until you leave again?”

“Two and a half weeks.” Nicky wanted to cry just thinking about it. “It's not long enough. I'm sorry. I just...” He looked down into the bowl, blinking away tears of frustration. Heard a chair scrape. When he looked back up Mark was sat beside him.

“Hey,” Mark murmured. Nicky sniffed. Managed a laugh at how ridiculous he was being. Mark smiled back, moving in until their foreheads touched. A thumb wiped a tear from his cheek.

“Hey,” Nicky breathed back. “Sorry.”

“Don't be,” Mark whispered, and leaned in to kiss him.

  
  


*

  
  


Kissing Mark was an addiction.

Clumsy, at first. A little unsure, too much tongue and awkward lips, but there was time to learn. Moving slowly. Until his hand had settled on a cheek with faint stubble, the angle had tilted, and he'd been coaxing. Feeling stiff lips soften against his. Connecting. While Mark had stopped over-thinking and slipped into what came naturally.

He couldn't stop. Chaste enough, despite the lashings of tongue. Both leaned awkwardly in their chairs. Mark tasted like tomato and cheese. When his eyes opened, Mark's were closed, barely visible in the scant flickering light.

“Oh.” It broke, panting. Mark's cheeks were flushed. Nicky's jaw hurt. “Nick...” His eyes squeezed tighter, then opened, dark.

“Do you want to move to the couch?”

“Yeah. Er.” His eyes darted to the table. “You still want your ice-cream?”

“I think it's melted,” Nicky chuckled. Mark gave him a rueful smile. “Jesus Christ, you're beautiful.” He pecked Mark's mouth again. Felt it respond.

“I've never kissed anyone. I mean, apart from...”

“Couldn't tell,” he fibbed. Mark bit a swollen lip shyly. Their hands threaded on his knee. He shivered when he felt the touch through his jeans. “Wanna watch TV? There's probably a film on.” His eye caught the microwave clock. Getting late. “I probably shouldn't stay too late. My parents...”

“You're not staying over?” Mark blurted. Nicky froze, then giggled when he saw Mark's face, halfway between horrified and embarrassed.

“Is that how it is?”

“I didn't... erm.” He pulled back. “You know.”

“Do I?”

“Just... my parents aren't here. I figured...” He breathed out slowly. “I didn't mean doing anything. I just thought.” He glanced down. Nicky tried to avoid doing the same, already sure what he was going to see. “Sorry.”

“Do you want me to stay the night?”

“Up to you,” Mark said quickly. Nicky raised an eyebrow. “It's weird here by myself,” he admitted. “Figured we could stay up all night like we used to. Like that time we took the air-bed out on the grass and slept under the stars. Or remember when we pitched a tent on the beach and your mam brought us sandwiches?”

“I remember.” Their hands were still joined. He turned Mark's over, put his other in it, palm to palm. “I want to,” he decided. “I'll call my folks, let them know I'm staying.” He grinned cheekily. “Wanna play cocoons?”

Mark laughed and began to pull away. “I'll get the sleeping bags. You know where the phone is.”

  
  


*

  
  


“What did your mam say?”

“Er...” Nicky wriggled. The sleeping bag was slipping all over the place, especially difficult with him down to his boxers and a baggy t-shirt of Mark's, trying to sit in a comfortable position on the sofa. He felt like a fish in a net. That was the rule of cocoons, though. Once the bag was on it stayed on, barring trips to the toilet. “She asked if I had condoms.” A look of horror crossed Mark's face. “I've been getting a lot of hints about safe sex since this morning.”

“Oh.” Mark disappeared suddenly, sucking down into his sleeping bag. Nicky giggled and pried the top away, saw a red face peering out at him. “You can kill me now if you want.”

“That wouldn't be safe at all,” Nicky commented idly. Mark grimaced. “They like you, at least. They weren't too fond of my last girlfriend.”

“No?”

“I mean, she was fine, but I think we all knew she wasn't the one.” He nudged Mark. “What about your parents? They know you're...?”

“Dunno. I haven't said anything.” Mark pulled the bag back down to his shoulders and wriggled to prop himself against Nicky's side. Nicky kissed his hair. Extricated an arm to put it round Mark's chest and felt a happy squirm that made his heart swell. “Tell me about your internship.”

“Not much to say. It's mostly admin and coffee.” Mark was peering up intently, cute beneath thick lashes, twisted slightly so his forehead was nuzzling Nicky's neck occasionally. “It's really fun. Sometimes they let me read the weather report.”

“Which station? I'll listen.”

“It's just local. I don't know if you'll get it out here.” Mark pouted. “You won't hear me anyway.”

“I give it two weeks until you're running the place.”

“Do you now?” He pecked Mark's nose. “Tell ya what, when you get famous I'll have you on my show.”

“Famous? Not likely.”

“I give it two weeks,” Nicky teased. “I'm so proud of you,” he murmured. Felt a nuzzle and ran his fingers through dark hair. “All those girls were going mad for you and it was like I couldn't breathe. You were too perfect.” A snort darted against his throat. “You were. Are.”

“I don't even write the songs. They don't even call me my real name.” Mark untucked from his throat to kiss Nicky's chin. Nicky closed his eyes. Felt a tongue lap out, experimental, and was glad he was in his sleeping bag from the waist down.

“Mark,” Nicky whispered. Couldn't help but let out a moan when fingers skimmed up his arm. There was a soft sigh of arousal in return. Hot breath against his skin.

“Nick,” Mark breathed. “Oh.” His nose rubbed against Nicky's jaw. “Smell good.”

His eyes squeezed shut. Mark smelled good too. Hot sweat and something raw and musky. Soap and want. He'd shaved, at some point, and there was a tang of cologne. Mark, who'd once grazed his knee wriggling skinny legs up a tree now had stubble already peeking through in a vague stippling rasp when Nicky cupped his cheek and pulled him in tighter.

“I want you,” Mark croaked shyly. Nicky groaned. “You've done it before, right? You've...”

“Oh Jesus.” It came out a strained laugh. “It was a bit different.” Teeth scraped along his jaw. Clumsy. When Nicky looked down there were dark eyes blinking sleepily at him, hooded by want. “Fuck me, how did we get here?”

“You don't want to.”

“Yesterday you told me to fuck off,” Nicky pointed out. Mark was already looking stung, pulling away.

“It's fine.”

“Mark...” He caught Mark's arm. Their sleeping bags had both slipped to their waists with all the wriggling. “Come here.” Mark shifted closer again, pouting, and there was Mark again. Not a child any more, but not quite a man. Not yet. He kissed a flushed cheek, pulled Mark into his chest. Felt a sooky exhale against him. “This is new to me too,” he murmured. “Let's just slow it down a bit.”

“Yeah,” Mark mumbled. Nicky kissed his hair, tried to ignore the intoxicating smell of him. “You're going to leave again,” he said softly. “I don't want to wait another year and...” He swallowed. “Everything's happening so fast. What if next year it's different?”

“We don't have to have sex for you to keep me.” He couldn't help but smile despite the pang in his chest. “It doesn't just have to be birthday cards,” he teased gently. “You can write me whenever you want. Call me. I'm always...”

“It's not the same,” Mark interrupted. Nicky shrugged.

“No, it's not. But it's what we've got.” He nudged Mark gently. “Come visit me in Dublin. Maybe I can drive to you on weekends. I'll come visit you on your birthday and give you your card in person.”

“I'll miss you.”

“Good.” He wriggled again, playfully, felt Mark wrestle, a giggle blurt into his chest, then a kick, awkward with the bag in the way. Nicky kicked him back. Mark growled, yanking him down onto his back on the sofa, both of them trying unsuccessfully to shove the other one onto the floor.

“Snake attack!”

“Mark!” Nicky squealed, felt himself roll. Managed to keep himself righted, though his legs slid sideways. He couldn't stop laughing. There was an elbow in his groin.

At last Mark flopped onto him, breathless. Nicky was giggling.

“Draw?”

“Draw.” Nicky grinned helplessly. “Want to pick a movie?”

“You can, I'll put on popcorn.” Mark slid awkwardly off, hit the floor, then managed to struggle to his feet. “You're still staying?” Nicky winked. “Okay. Cool. Um.” He was flushed, looked slightly baffled. It was beautiful. “Back in a minute.”

He shuffled off, feet in the bottom corners of the sleeping bag held up by his armpits.

Nicky slid to the floor and began to look through the pile of videos under the coffee table.

  
  


 


	6. Chapter 6

They slept late the next day. Neither of them had much need to go to bed, so they'd stayed up well after midnight, watching videos and cuddling on the sofa. Kissing, occasionally. It had started to feel more comfortable. Less urgent and unsure and more something they were doing for the sheer enjoyment of it. Because Mark tasted perfect and there was nowhere else Nicky wanted to be.

“I had a nice date,” Nicky had whispered, as he'd drifted off in Mark's bed. There'd been a snort from the floor.

“Me too,” Mark had whispered back.

Now it was morning. Well after ten. There was a mop of hair poking out from Mark's sleeping bag. Nicky closed his eyes again, not quite ready to be up.

They both started at the ring of the doorbell.

“Urgh.” Mark rolled over to plant his face into the pillow. “Go 'way Nick it's early.”

“It's not me,” Nicky chuckled. Mark groaned. Obviously still asleep enough to not know what was going on. The doorbell trilled again. “Alright.” He slipped out of bed, stumbling slightly while wakefulness caught up with him, managed to step over Mark, and jogged quickly down the stairs, rubbing his eyes.

He fumbled the door open. Heard a creak upstairs as Mark tried to struggle out of bed.

Nicky blinked in the sunlight, pushed his hair out of his eyes. The lad on the step stared back. Long hair and a baggy band shirt over ripped jeans. He looked different out of the get-up. Cleaner and brighter, skin more tanned in the sunlight than Nicky had realised after watching him scream in the dark.

“Er... hey.” He got a suspicious look. Nicky could hear Mark in the upstairs hallway. “Freddie in?”

“Hey. Kian.” Mark was talking too quickly already, coming down the stairs. “Sorry, I was asleep, um.” He glanced painfully at Nicky, who was trying not to laugh. “I mean.”

“Nicky.” Nicky stuck out his hand while Mark looked on in horror. “Sorry. Kian, right?”

“Yeah?”

“I saw your show the other night. That was class.” He smiled sunnily, trying to diffuse the situation before Mark had a panic attack. “Mark told me you were mad on that thing but I didn't quite believe it.” Kian was beginning to look unsure, maybe a little defensive. “I'm an old friend of Mark's.”

“Oh. Cool.” Kian shrugged. Glanced at Mark. “Sorry, he didn't say he was having people over.”

“What are you doing here?” Mark blurted. Keeping a straight face was torture. Kian raised an eyebrow.

“Think I left a box of cables here the other night,” Kian explained. “Must have forgotten it when we were packing up. You see anything?”

“Um...” Mark looked pointlessly over his shoulder. “No. But. I'll look. Er.” He dithered, obviously torn between slamming the door in Kian's face or throwing Nicky out the closest window.

“I'm going to make a coffee,” Nicky announced. “Anyone else want one?”

He wandered off, smirking to himself when he heard Mark attempt to casually invite Kian in.

  
  


*

  
  


“So.” Kian was sat at the kitchen table, eating a slice of cold pizza from the night before. The box of cables was under his chair. Nicky took a sip from his coffee. “How do you know Freddie, then? I haven't seen you around.”

“Just visiting.”

“From Dublin,” Mark interjected quickly, as though the distance might incriminate him less. Nicky didn't know what he was panicking about. Straight friends were allowed to crash at each other's places. He'd done it all the time with his mates back home.

“I come up for the summer,” Nicky explained. “My folks rent a place out near the water.”

“Cool.” Kian tore off another bite of his pizza. “Dublin, hey? What do you do there?”

“He's on the radio,” Mark said, before Nicky could get a word out. Kian raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

“I'm a production intern for a radio station,” Nicky chuckled. Kian was beginning to look excited. “It's not that interesting, honestly. Mostly the late shift. I'm hoping to break into proper broadcasting.” He glanced at Mark, who was biting his lip.

“Do you have any connections?”

“Er... no, not really.” Nicky laughed, surprised by the bluntness of this boy who was beginning to lean seriously over the table, all business. “Mark gave me a copy of your CD, though. So if I can I'll try to put it on the radio.”

“Really?” Kian's eyes widened. “That'd be class! Why didn't you say you knew someone on the radio?” He leaned over to elbow Mark. “I've been slogging away for months calling every twat I can find.”

“I've not been there long,” Nicky explained. Maybe he'd misjudged Kian. He'd thought him a bit of a poser, a bit childish perhaps, but he seemed to be quite serious. Looked like he was doing calculations in his head already.

“What did you think, then? You reckon we've got legs?”

“I think so,” Nicky said carefully. He was being drawn into this without meaning to. Suspected Kian thought he had a bit more clout than he did. “My one suggestion would be to change the name.” Kian frowned.

“Skrod's cool.”

“It is,” Nicky allowed. “But if you're trying to get mainstream appeal you might have trouble.” Kian pursed his lips.

“That's what I said,” Mark murmured. The look he got was accusing.

“We're not mainstream. We're rock.”

“Yeah, but...” He glanced at Kian's shirt. Bon Jovi in full eighties get up, hair and leather. “Bon Jovi are rock, though, aren't they? But they still get on the radio. If they were called Gash-Munchers they wouldn't get the play no matter how good they are.” Mark was stifling a laugh.

“Fair point...” Kian said slowly. He was staring intently at Nicky. “What would you suggest, then? I don't want to be called fecking Boyzone or whatever.”

“I think that's taken.”

“New Kids on the Block?”

“Might be copyrighted,” Nicky teased. Kian smirked. “What if you think of a temporary name? Just something to put on the CD. Send in the same one and see if you get more responses. I wouldn't be surprised if half of them weren't even listening to it once they saw the name.” Kian was beginning to look defensive again. “It's just an idea.”

“Might be worth a try,” Mark interjected carefully. Kian chewed his lip thoughtfully.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “Okay. Yeah. I'll ring the lads, get them thinking of a name.” He nodded at Nicky. “We're meeting up at Derrick's tomorrow afternoon for practice. You should come. See what you reckon.”

“I don't know that I'm qualified to...”

“Sure you are. Dublin, right?”

“Yeah, but...”

“He'll be there,” Mark said. Nicky turned, surprised. Got a half smile that made his stomach flip.

“I'll be there,” he decided.

  
  


*

  
  


“What was all that about?” Nicky laughed, once Kian had taken his box and gone home. Mark gave him a sheepish smile.

“What was what about?”

“All that...” He sighed, though it was cut off by a kiss that distracted him long enough that by the time it broke he was feeling a little melted around the edges. Mark's hand was on his lower back, his gaze catching Nicky's in a frozen, breathless moment.

“I've been trying to get him to change the name for the last six months.” Nicky shrugged. “I...” He looked down, going slightly pink. “I'm sorry. That I was...” He nuzzled Nicky's nose. “I panicked when I saw you together.”

“What, did you think I was going to say something?”

“No. I just... I dunno.” He looked up, biting his lip. “I'm sorry. He likes you. Sometimes I just get so confused I can't even breathe and I think everything awful's going to happen at once.”

“Mark...” He stepped closer. Let out a breath at the enveloping press of Mark against him.

“He likes you. You're Nicky from Dublin who knows stuff about music. Maybe it's the boot up the arse we need.”

“Do you?”

Mark bit his lip. “I want it. But Kian's in charge and the other lads mostly do what they're told. I don't want this thing to fall apart. It's my way out.” He shook his head. “We don't make it and then next year we all finish Leaving Cert and go off to uni and we never see each other again, then what? I'm just back to boring old Mark again who nobody likes.”

“You've never been boring old Mark,” Nicky promised. Mark shrugged in his arms.

“No, I'm gay Mark who gets kicked into the showers. Or I'm weird Mark who's the only person not invited to birthday parties.” He scowled, though there were tears in his eyes.

“It's not always going to be like that. You grow up and it'll...”

“It's like that _now_ ,” Mark argued. “Or it was, until I had this. I _have_ this. I can't lose it.” He pulled away, face red. “You don't understand.”

“No. I don't.” He put his hand on Mark's shoulder. “You're amazing. I can't for a moment think you won't be everything you've ever wanted.” That elicited a smile, though tiny. “How can I help?”

  
  


*

  
  


“Ooh, walk of shame...”

“Fuck off, Gillian,” Nicky grunted. She was sitting on the porch seat, feet up, when he hopped off his bike. She motioned him into a hug. “Hey.”

“Hiya.” She kissed his cheek. The kitchen window was shut behind them but he could see his mam through the glass. She raised her hand in a wave. He waved back, then sat down when his sister patted the seat.

“Mam told you?”

“Told me what?” She raised an eyebrow. He stared back in confusion. “Oh, shit. Were you actually? I was just taking the piss!” She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh while he went red. “Nicholas Byrne! I figured when you didn't pick me up from the station you were just hanging out with your mate or something.” Nicky looked away, cheeks burning.

“Yeah. Well.”

“Well,” she snorted. “Who was it? Some local harlot? You sowing your seeds around the counties?”

“It was just a date,” Nicky argued. “Jesus, Gill, I'm seventeen. I don't ask you who you're letting up your clacks.”

“That's no way to talk to a lady.”

“Good thing there's none around, then.” She elbowed him, laughing. “How was the train?”

“Boring. Don't change the subject.” An arm draped around his shoulders. “So who's this girl? Is she better than that last one you brought around?”

“Fine,” he mumbled. She raised an eyebrow. “I dunno. It's new. I'm not sure how I feel yet.” He didn't. Mark was sweet when they were alone, strange and defensive when they weren't. Things with Kian had gone well that morning but Nicky wasn't sure how they would have been if questions had been asked.

They'd left on good terms. Spent a little more time snogging on the sofa until Nicky had almost forgotten the horrified look when Mark had seen Nicky talking to his friend, the one that was accusing, almost angry. Like Nicky might be fucking up Mark's carefully laid plans.

It hadn't been a nice feeling, once he'd stopped enjoying Mark's panic. The whole ride home it had crept on him. That feeling of being secondary. Something Mark was frightened and ashamed of.

“You're back,” his dad commented. Nicky looked up. He'd come around the side of the house without Nicky noticing, an armful of cut logs under one arm. “Get me that CD?”

“I forgot,” Nicky admitted. “I'll get it next time.”

“Fair enough. How was Mark's place?”

“Fine.” Gillian's gaze narrowed slightly, confused. “Um. We just had dinner and watched some movies. He slept on the floor,” he said quickly, before his dad could jump to conclusions.

“Oh. Fair enough,” his dad said gruffly. “Er... good. Well, invite him for dinner next time. Sure the lad's eating chocolate and crumbs in the house by himself.” Nicky nodded. “He can stay in your room of course.”

“Yeah,” Nicky mumbled. “Thanks.” Gillian's eyes were widening again. His dad disappeared into the house with the wood.

“Oh, really?” He didn't know what to expect, but when he looked up she was smirkng.

“Er... yeah. Maybe.” He scratched his arm awkwardly. “Nice date.”

“I'm scandalised,” she deadpanned, though her eyes danced. The arm fell around his shoulders again. “Happy for you,” she whispered. He felt himself flush. “Wondered when you two'd sort yourselves out.”

Nicky didn't know what to say. Instead he just turned his gaze to the sea, breathing in salt while she kissed his cheek.

  
  


*

  
  


It was late, just before midnight, when he heard the crunch of gravel and the clatter of someone climbing the car-port.

He opened his eyes, not frightened despite the late hour. The window creaked open. A grey silhouette that struggled through then rolled to the floor clumsily, grunting. Up the hall he could hear his parents' voices, the creak of the mattress. Mark slid into bed with him and in the dark Nicky could feel his heart racing beneath his shirt.

“Couldn't sleep,” Mark whispered. Nicky nodded and kissed his hair, spooned around him, felt an ice-cold hand entwine with his.

“Nicky?” His dad. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” Nicky called back, as softly as he could. Mark was cold, still shivering. Nicky cupped hands around his, trying to warm him. “Night, dad.”

“Night. Night, Mark.” He padded back up the hall. Nicky kissed Mark's hair again.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No,” Mark murmured, his shivering slowing as he softened into the duvet. “Just let me stay.”

  
  


 


	7. Chapter 7

“Am I found on a farm?”

“No.” Nicky brushed a strand of hair from Mark's forehead. He could barely see in the grey shadows. Not quite morning, not night any more. The strange in-between time, when any moment the sun could peer over the horizon to brush away the stars.

“Am I found in the jungle?”

“Yes,” Nicky whispered. Mark pursed his lips, trying to think.

“Am I smaller than a sheep?”

“No.” He closed his eyes to better sink into Mark's kiss. Comfortable. He'd woken not long before. Tried to stay still, but eventually Mark had stirred, moved in his arms, and then they'd been looking sleepily at each other, their shared warmth cradling them in the duvet.

He moved his arm where Mark was laying on it, ended up pulling him in closer as he tried to get the blood moving. A soft sigh whispered into his throat.

“Am I a tiger?”

“Yes,” Nicky laughed. Mark smirked against his skin. “Love you,” he breathed. Mark mumbled agreement into his shoulder.

“Want to stay like this forever.” Fingers stroked gently at his spine. Knotted up completely. Nicky's t-shirt had ridden up, but he didn't mind, was just enjoying every warm press of Mark breathing, every slow thud of his heart. “Got one.”

“Animal, vegetable or mineral?”

“Vegetable.”

“Mm.” He barely had the energy to think. Had just enough to tilt Mark into another kiss. Lips opening against his and a soft moan that thrummed down into his stomach. He replied with one of his own. Heard a languid sigh that didn't help things. Not when one of Mark's hands slid carefully beneath the elastic of his pyjama bottoms.

He started. Felt it pull back.

“Sorry.” They looked at each other. Mark was biting his lip. “Um.”

“Am I edible?”

“What?”

“Your vegetable... thing.” Nicky grimaced when he realised what he'd said. Mark was stifling an awkward laugh. “Er.”

“I mean, you are.”

“Thank you,” Nicky snorted. Mark was giggling now, rolled away slightly while Nicky poked him. “Shut up.” He pulled Mark in again, though it was awkward, and he ended up half on top, looking down. Mark smiled back in the half-light. He glowed.

“What's wrong?” Mark said softly. Nicky realised he'd stopped smiling.

“Nothing. Sorry.” He pushed the floppy hair from Mark's forehead again, caressed his face on the way past. “Just...” An ache in his belly he couldn't quite name. “It's early. I'm tired.” He pecked Mark's nose, felt it wrinkle. “Should we get some sleep?”

“You haven't guessed my thing yet.”

“Is it peas?”

Mark gasped.

“How did you know?”

“It's almost always peas,” Nicky chuckled. Mark was pouting. “I know you, remember? You picked peas last time. Starting to think you have peas on the brain.”

“I'm not a pea-brain.”

“No, you're perfect.” Nicky flopped back onto his side. After a moment Mark lay down beside him, looking annoyed. “And gorgeous, and sexy, and predictable.” Mark harrumphed.

“You always pick tiger. I just like to let you think you're clever.”

“Nice try.” It was probably true. Nicky didn't mind.

He pulled Mark in, closing his eyes as sunlight began to seep into the little room.

  
  


*

  
  


“More toast, Mark?”

“Yes please.” Nicky's mam slid another slice onto his plate. Nicky hadn't quite known what to expect when they'd come downstairs, suspected Mark had been nervous too, but all that had happened were a few yawns, a disinterested wave from Adam, and the offer of eggs on toast.

Gillian kept smirking at her breakfast. Nicky resisted the urge to kick her under the table.

“What are you boys up to today?” his dad asked.

“Mark's invited me to band practice,” Nicky interrupted, before Mark could start waffling. “What time's that on?”

“Erm...” Mark tapped his lip thoughtfully with his fork. “Dunno. Kian said this afternoon. Probably just show up whenever.” He went back to eating his eggs while Nicky raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Is that how it usually works?”

“Mostly. Kian'll get there around two, probably, but Gray and Migs won't show up til like... four. Maybe. Derrick'll be on time because it's his house. But once we sat outside for two hours because he'd gone to the cinema and forgotten.”

“Oh.” Maybe it wasn't just the name that was the problem. “Okay. We'll aim for two, then?”

“If you like.” He saw his mother grin. Nicky Byrne was punctual. You showed up to places on time, if not five minutes before. It was only polite. She'd always said she could set his watch by him if he had an appointment.

“More juice?” she said instead.

  
  


*

  
  


They were fucking annoying, Nicky knew that much.

It was just after two-thirty that they showed up. They went back to Mark's place so he could shower and change, then dithered around while Mark lost his keys, found them again, then proceeded to spend almost twenty minutes shuffling around looking for his wallet.

Mark looked... different. Nicky watched him dress. Put on five different jackets when before he'd been happy to just throw on a tracksuit and baseball cap. He looked put together. There was a slouch in his walk that hadn't been there, an affected look of disinterest that got more obvious as they walked around the back, to a shed a hundred steps beyond the back door. Derrick's room, apparently.

“Hey. Come in.” There was a cigarette dangling from the greasy-haired boy's mouth. He glanced at Nicky. “Hey.”

“Nicky.” Mark gestured idly. “Derrick.”

“Nice to meet you,” Nicky said, and put out his hand. The lad looked like he'd barely woken up. The room wasn't much better. A mattress on the floor hidden by a pile of dirty laundry. A fold-up chair, and a drum kit.

“Freddie,” Kian said, from the chair. He was tuning his guitar. “Hey Nicky.” Nicky nodded. “Take the seat if you like. Jesus, this place is a tip.”

“I tidied.”

“Yeah. Cheers.” Nicky took the honour of sitting in the vacated chair, after a quick glance to make sure there were no damp spots. “Nicky's the one I was telling you about. Works at the radio station in Dublin. Thought he could tell us what he thinks.”

“Oh.” Derrick woke up slightly. “Brilliant. Yeah.” He tilted his head. “You catch the gig the other night?”

“I looked in,” Nicky admitted. Mark was shifting uncomfortably, apparently desperate to interrupt but not sure what to say. Nicky nodded at him, got a panicked smile in reply. “Um.” He tried to think of something professional-sounding to say. “Good stage-presence.”

The other lads showed up not too long after. Graham first, then Michael with a bass guitar under one arm. They set up. Plugging in amps and arguing over which cord went where. Michael offered Mark a cigarette, and Nicky was horrified to see him consider it for a moment before glancing at Nicky then declining with a blush.

He dodged questions. Can you play our stuff on the radio? What do you think of our look? You know any agents? He smiled his way through all of them, gave them non-answers, and managed not to wince at the sudden burst of feedback when Graham stepped on the wrong lead on his way to sit at the drumkit.

Then they started to play, and he was hooked.

They were hopelessly uncool, of course, but with instruments in their hands they were magic. Kian's fingers were fire on the guitar, every inch the young rockstar. The others were good too, intense, the music moving through them, but Kian and Mark were something else. Watching each other with a respect as though they were checking on each other every moment, unable to believe they were really doing this. A perfect, drawn-out moment of two hearts beating in rhythm.

They wanted it. Needed it. Like blood and oxgen.

“You write that?” Nicky asked, when the first song stopped and they were all arguing over what to play next. Kian nodded.

“I did. Yeah. The melody and lyrics and stuff, anyway. We all kinda put the arrangement together.” He looked around at the others, who smiled proudly. This one had it figured out, Nicky knew already. Could keep this thing alive by spit and charisma alone. Mark was staring at him adoringly.

Nicky felt a pang of jealousy, and tamped it down. Realised, abruptly, that they were all staring at him.

“You like it?” Kian asked. Nicky nodded. “Nicky reckons we should change the name,” he said to the others. “Send our stuff out and see if anything changes.” Mark was holding his breath.

“I like Skrod,” Derrick said carefully. His eyes darted to Nicky. “What do you know, anyway? Just because you're on the radio...”

“I'm not an expert,” Nicky allowed. Graham crossed his arms. “What's your demographic?”

“What?”

“Are you looking to only play niche stations and small gigs, or are you going for wider appeal?” They were exchanging looks now. “If you just want to play to metalheads in underground clubs, then you'll probably be okay, but I saw a lot of girls at the gig. That's a market. Girls want to go to concerts. They buy t-shirts and stuff. They buy CDs.”

“We're not selling out,” Derrick retorted. “We're not a fecking boyband.”

“Neither are the Smashing Pumpkins.” Mark was trying to hide a smile. “Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Soundgarden. Metallica.” That last one got a murmur of interest. “You can have an edgy name. You've got all the pieces of being the next big thing.” They did. “Pearl Jam's filthy when you think about it, but at least you can put it on posters.”

“Queen used to be called 'Smile'”, Mark said softly. They all looked at him. They did that, Nicky had noticed. He was quiet, usually, but when he spoke it was like he commanded a moment of respect. “And Nirvana was Pen Cap Chew.” That got a snort of derision. “Sometimes it's a good idea.”

“Just as an experiment,” Graham said slowly. Kian nodded.

“Exactly, yeah. If it doesn't work we go back to the old name.” Michael was chewing his lip. “Vote? For temporarily changing the name.” Kian put his hand up. Mark did, as well. Then, slowly, Graham raised his. Michael did the same a second later.

“Fuck it,” Derrick said, and put his up. Mark was trying to hide a grin of triumph. “Didn't realise we had a new manager.” He shot a glare at Nicky, who managed not to edge back in his seat.

“I'm not...”

“We don't even have an old manager,” Kian joked. “Cool.” He reached for his guitar and slung it back around his shoulder. “Everybody start thinking of a fresh name while we practice. I've got to be home for tea in two hours.” His fingers struck out a chord. “Dez, you pick this one.” He nodded at Nicky. “Tell us what you reckon.”

Nicky sat back and let them play.

  
  


*

  
  


“He doesn't like me very much.”

“Who? Kian? He likes you.”

“Derrick, I mean.” Nicky reached for another slice of pizza. He'd called his folks from Derrick's house, let them know he'd be skipping dinner. After everything, Mark had invited him out to eat. In public. It wasn't something he was passing up. His foot kept touching Mark's under the tablecloth, getting shy smiles whenever it did.

“Yeah. Well. He's... not great with being told what to do.” Mark sipped thoughtfully at his cola. “He didn't want me in the band, either.”

“No?”

“Yeah. I'm not supposed to know, but Kian talked him round to it. Michael told me once.” He shrugged. “We're alright now. He just takes time warming up to things.”

“Oh.”

“You had fun, though?”

“Yeah. It was good.” He smiled fondly at the uncertain look he was getting. “Couldn't keep my eyes off you, honestly.”

“Oh.” Mark glanced around nervously, though he was blushing. “I'm alright.” His foot touched Nicky's. Nicky kicked gently back. “It's a bit weird when we're singing about girls and that? There's this one that's like... sort of graphic? And I always feel like an eejit talking about like... that.” He grimaced. “Not that I've slept with anyone, so if it was about a... a boy...” his voice lowered. “I mean, I probably wouldn't feel comfortable singing it anyway.”

“Bet the girls go mad for it, though.”

“Kian wrote it about this girl who gave him a handjob in the school swimming pool.” Nicky burst into laughter, almost choked on his pizza. He coughed, got a concerned look and a quizzical grin. Cleared his throat.

“Does she know?”

“There's about three girls who told everyone it was about them. Two of them don't speak any more.”

“Bit of a slut, is he?”

“No. Just... girls have always liked him. He's always been good at talking to people. And he's cute or whatever. You know.” Nicky raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, is he?”

“I mean. People say that.” Mark was going beet red. That throb of jealousy was coming back. Nicky pushed it away. “It's not like... a thing I've noticed. He's nice looking. Not as nice as you. I haven't even really noticed, not literally. Just people have said...”

“It's fine,” Nicky chuckled. Mark was clearly getting flustered. “Mark, it's fine.” His hand caught Mark's, which was floundering, then pulled away when he realised what he was doing in public. “Sorry,” he said, after both hands had snapped down to hide under the table. “I didn't mean to do that.”

“It's okay.” It wasn't, though. Nicky could tell. “Er. I'm done eating. We can head off.” The place was packed. If anyone had noticed, there didn't appear to be a reaction. Nobody was looking at them anyway. “Um.” He breathed out slowly. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“Sorry,” Nicky agreed. They looked awkwardly at each other. “You're really cute when you're panicking,” he explained in a whisper, got a lopsided grin in reply. “You want ice-cream? My treat?” He stood up. “Butterscotch ripple?”

“And you're gonna have triple chocolate,” Mark replied immediately. Nicky winked. Saw Mark relax slightly. “Extra sprinkles?”

“Obviously.” He touched Mark's shoulder on the way past. “As if there was any question.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

The heat spread as the fire did. Started as a low crackle. Mark built it carefully. Kindling first, then logs, then newspaper to catch it. Nicky lay with his eyes half-open, grass prickling him through the blanket as it warmed the night air from his skin.

“Think it'll keep,” Mark murmured. Nicky nodded absently. Closed his eyes. It was clear, the moon and the fire all they needed. He felt movement beside him and shifted to lay his head on Mark's lap, smiling at the fingers that stroked through his hair. “I wouldn't have suggested a fire if I though you were going to nod off on me.”

“Resting my eyes,” Nicky mumbled. A gentle snort from above him. The smell of wood smoke. He filled his lungs then let it out. Felt Mark do the same. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too,” Mark whispered. Nicky smiled. A knot popped somewhere in the iron fire-pit Mark had dragged into the middle of the back garden, away from trees and dry grass.

His parents hadn't been surprised when he'd said he was staying at Mark's. Dinner had ended and it had just made so much _sense_. A big empty house. Nobody to wake with them whispering all night. Maybe his parents thought it was more than that. He didn't know if he minded.

“When did you realise?” Nicky asked.

“What?”

“That... you know.” He opened his eyes. The flames danced an orange waltz, streaking his vision when he blinked. “Not about love or whatever. Just that... you felt like that. About boys.”

“Oh... er...” There was a tut of indecision. “Not sure. I suppose it wasn't liking boys at first, it was just that I didn't like girls the way I thought I was supposed to. I just figured I was behind. This weird feeling like I was missing something somewhere. You know? Everyone got it but me.”

“Oh.” Nicky nodded. That hadn't been his experience at all. He'd always been social. Willing to talk to anyone, best friends within a minute. Creating attachments to people was what he did, sexual or not. And if there was snogging and messing about, so be it.

“But like, I was weird anyway, so I didn't think I was like... gay. I just figured I was being a freak again .”

“You're not a freak. Stop saying that.”

“I am, though.”

“You aren't.” He rolled on his back. Looked up. Mark looked odd from below. Too much chin and strange shadows that shifted like a funhouse mirror in the firelight.

“You don't know. You're only here a few weeks a year, and...”

“Then maybe I know better than anyone,” Nicky argued. A tongue darted out to wet nervous lips. “You're different. That's fine. Maybe you're just bigger than Sligo. Maybe you're supposed to be somewhere where people have some fucking imagination. If you're a freak, so am I.”

“You're not a freak,” Mark laughed. “You're cool.”

“And I'm in love with you. Brilliant. Just us freaks.” He shot Mark a glare. “You got a problem with freaks?”

“But you...”

“David Bowie's a freak. Prince. What about Michael Jackson? He's weird and he's the most famous person in the world. You love freaks. I've seen your CD collection.”

“That's different. They're famous.”

“Good thing you're a freak, then. Considering your line of work.” Mark opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, looking annoyed. Nicky reached up a hand to touch his cheek. “Hey,” he murmured. “Do what you've gotta do to survive. I get it. Just don't think it's real. You're just waiting for your moment.” A dim, disbelieving smile ghosted through the orange shadows.

“Yeah. I guess.” Mark stared silently into the flames for a long time. Nicky let him. Turned back onto his side to watch them flicker. Finally a hand settled on his arm. Began a slow, gentle stroke that made Nicky shiver despite the heat. It paused. Not sure if it was allowed. Then started again, experimental.

The fire died down, after a while. Nicky closed his eyes. Felt the touch settle on his hip. He shivered again. Felt a bloom of want. Belonging.

“I don't want you to go,” Mark whispered. Nicky nodded silently. Caught the other hand and kissed the back of it when it came close enough. “Take me with you?”

“Won't your parents notice you're gone?”

“I'll put a bunch of pillows under my duvet. Take them at least a week to realise I'm not just sleeping in.”

“Clever.” Nicky kissed his hand again. “We'll make time. It won't be a whole year again. I promise.”

“What if you get a girlfriend or something?”

“What if you get a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, right,” Mark laughed. Nicky smiled. Maybe Mark didn't believe it, but he wasn't naïve. Long distance was a gamble, even to couples that had been together years. Especially when they were both young, when one was still in school and hadn't quite figured out who he was going to be yet. Maybe in a year he'd be a different Mark. Maybe they'd both be different.

“Let's just take it as it comes,” Nicky suggested. “We'll still be friends.”

“Okay.” His hand squeezed Nicky's hip again. “Um.”

“Yeah?”

“You probably need to get off my lap?” Nicky shifted, then snorted when he realised what Mark was talking about. “Sorry. It's warm and I fancy you and erm.” His legs curled up when Nicky lifted away. “Sorry.”

“S'fine.” He sat beside Mark instead to lean his head on a strong shoulder. An embarrased peck brushed his forehead. “I fancy you too.”

“Oh.” Their hands wove together on Mark's bent up knee. “When did you figure it out? Like... about boys or whatever?”

“Still am,” Nicky admitted. “When I kissed you.” Mark snorted and looked away. “I don't know what I am, I just know this feels right. Being with you.” He nuzzled Mark's cheek. “I think about you,” he murmured. “About how you smell. How you'd feel. Your voice and...” He closed his eyes and forced himself to exhale when he realised he was getting hard himself. “What you'd do to me.”

“What would I do?” Mark whispered back. Nicky bit his lip. Knew this was dangerous territory, but he felt small and safe. Like they were the only two people in the world, out in the dark.

“Don't know.” He pressed in closer. Slipped his arm around Mark's back. Couldn't help a moan when Mark's hand settled on his ribs in return. “Just... you'd be there and I'd...” He tipped his head back when lips plucked teasingly at his earlobe. “I was with girls and it wasn't like I expected, you know? Like when it came down to it we were naked and it was awkward but kind of nice anyway.”

“Why are you talking about girls?”

“I don't know,” Nicky laughed helplessly. “I just.” He turned, caught Mark in a kiss that deepened quickly. Hungry. Caught Mark with his other arm, a clumsy embrace. His thigh slid over Mark's lap. Hips lifted to meet him. Hard and oh god, he wanted it. Couldn't explain why when he'd never wanted it before but this was _Mark_. Like something out of his dreams. Clumsily making out on a blanket and wishing he could freeze this moment to hold against his heart while they were apart.

A low gasp. Mark's hips lurched. Nicky swung over, tumbled them down. His hand behind Mark's head damp on the grass where they'd shifted off the blanket. The heat of the fire almost painful on his legs. Thighs spread and lifted to cradle him and when he pressed down Mark whimpered against his mouth.

“Nick.” Mark groaned a warning. “Please I...”

“I know.” He didn't mind. Closed his eyes at a shattered roll of arousal that swept through him. Mark was fumbling between them. His jeans popped open. Nicky looked down. Kissed Mark again. A soft cry and then a blurt of wet between them, sticking his t-shirt to his stomach. Mark gasping and writhing and fucking hell.

They stopped. Mark bright red and panting. Nicky just panting. Dark, sleepy eyes that looked too bright. Red, wet lips. Stunning. Perfect. Fuck, Nicky was going to have to leave him.

“Love you,” Nicky breathed. “Christ I love you.”

“Sorry,” Mark croaked. “I didn't mean...”

“It was beautiful,” Nicky assured him. Mark's hand slipped down again. They unbuttoned him together. Slippery when he pressed into a clumsy grip that tightened.

Mark kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.

Afterwards, laid on a blanket under the stars, the fire burnt low and his jeans aching where he'd tucked himself back in, he felt Mark spoon around him and a kiss brush the back of his neck.

“Hold me,” Nicky said softly, not sure why he wanted to cry. Mark nodded another kiss to his nape.

“All night,” Mark promised.

  
  


*

  
  


They stayed up late. Slept late to make up for it. Mark didn't sleep on the floor this time. They squashed in together instead. Snogging and whispering, giggling about stupid things. It was perfect. Bundled up in the duvet in their pyjamas, hands wandering occasionally beneath t-shirts. When Nicky finally nodded off it was to Mark breathing steadily against his shoulder, fingers tucked comfortably against his stomach.

The morning was rainy. Nicky blinked in the grey light, not sure where he was for a second until he heard a flush from down the hall and saw a Mariah Carey poster above a battered chest of drawers.

“Morning,” Mark croaked, then collapsed back into bed. Nicky shifted over to make room. “What day is it?”

“Friday?”

“Cool.” He closed his eyes. “Night.”

“Night.” Nicky yawned. Scrubbed bleary eyes. “S'pose I'd better ring my parents at some point.” A sleepy grumble was his answer. “What are you doing today?”

“This.”

“All day?”

“Give me two hours and I'll feel you up?”

“Plan made,” Nicky laughed. An eye cracked open to look at him. The other was tucked almost into his armpit. “You're beautiful.” It looked away shyly. “You okay after last night?”

“Yeah,” Mark yawned. “Thought it'd be weird but like... it's you.” He bit his lip. “It was okay?”

“It was perfect.” He teased dark hair away from a wrinkled forehead.

“I've never like... with anyone.”

“I know.” Nicky smiled. “You did fine.”

“You're bigger than me.”

Nicky shrugged. It hadn't really crossed his mind. They hadn't seen that much of each other regardless, and he'd not been bothered comparing.

“You're perfect,” he promised. Mark's cheeks were lighting up red and if anything it was just proving the point. “I'm glad I got to be there for it. It was nice.” He couldn't stop stroking Mark's hair. Couldn't stop touching him. “We'll go at your speed.”

“Yeah.” That got a smile and Jesus he'd forgotten how young Mark was. Not that seventeen was a child but god there was something not quite done about him yet. Still soft in the centre and waiting to finish baking. “Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Nicky agreed. “Now get off me. I have to pee.”

  
  


*

  
  


They muddled around the house until the early afternoon. He called his mam to let her know where he was and what was going on. She said that was fine and asked if he'd be home for dinner.

He promised he would be. Partly because there was really nothing to eat at Mark's, but mostly because he heard it in her voice. Not annoyance, but a resigned sadness that this was their family holiday. Maybe their last proper one with everyone and they were running out of time to spend together.

He didn't think she minded, exactly. Felt worse for her not minding.

Mark's parents rang as well to check in on him. He said he was fine, that he was hanging out with Nicky, and no he didn't need anything. They were still a week from coming back.

Nicky was making toast when the phone rang again.

“You're popular today,” he commented. Mark pecked him on the cheek on the way past.

“That's because I'm interesting.”

“Are you now?” Nicky flicked him with a teatowel. “Shite.”

“Knob.” Mark grinned at him and picked the receiver up. “Hiya. Oh... hey.” He glanced at Nicky again. “Yeah, I guess so. No. No plans.” The cord was beginning to turn into a knot while he twirled it round his finger and leaned against the wall to listen. “Mmhmm. Yeah. See ya.” He hung up.

“What was that about?”

“Party. Some people from school I think.” He nodded at Nicky. “Kian said to bring you if you want.”

“Tonight?” Mark nodded. “I said I'd be home for dinner.”

“I wasn't going to show up til like ten. It's Friday anyway.”

“Oh. Right.” Mark was looking unsure. “Do you want me to come?”

“If you want to.”

“That's not what I asked.” Mark shrugged. His tone had shifted somehow, in between picking up the phone and now. Something slouchy and disinterested. The same way he'd looked at practice the day before. “Do you want to go?”

“Guess so. Could be a laugh.”

“Oh.” The toaster popped, making him jump. He reached for the butter. There was no point analysing it. A week ago Mark had wanted nothing to do with him and now he was being invited to a party. He did wonder if he would have been had Kian not asked, though, and that hurt more than he'd expected.

“You don't have to.”

“I'll come,” Nicky decided. “Cool.” He didn't know if it was. Was buttering the toast and stewing in his thoughts when a kiss dropped to the back of his neck and made him forget what he'd been worried about. Hands settled on his hips. “Mm,” he muttered. Mark mumbled the same into his skin. The kiss drifted up to behind his ear. “Help you?”

“You're already wearing those jeans,” Mark teased. Nicky snorted in surprise, then yelped when the freshly buttered slice of toast was snatched from his grip. “Cheers.”

“Prick.” The bulging cheeks suggested it was already too late. “If I didn't love you...” Mark swallowed.

“But you do. So there.” He patted Nicky's bum as he sauntered away.

Nicky sighed and dropped another slice of bread into the toaster.

  
  


 


	9. Chapter 9

“You look nice.”

“Oh.” Nicky looked down at himself. “Thanks.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of the jacket he'd pulled on before they'd gone out, then had to remove one to wave when his dad honked a goodbye. Mark waved as well. “You too.”

“Should probably do some laundry soon.”

“Probably a good idea,” Nicky chuckled. It was piling up beside Mark's hamper. It was clear he didn't do the laundry himself when his parents were about, though he'd pulled together a decent ensemble of ripped black jeans and a black t-shirt, a soft maroon sweater pulled over the top. Looked dressy but like he'd fallen into it by accident, the perfect pretence of unaffected cool.

He was surprised when Mark went to the fence and began to climb over.

“I thought we were going to Kian's house?” Mark glanced over his shoulder. The place they'd been dropped in front of did look dead, come to think of it. The lights were off, the front gate closed.

“That's just what everyone tells their parents.” He dropped down on the other side, reached out a hand to help Nicky over too. He began to climb reluctantly. Landed bent-kneed in high grass. It was eerie. A black field that stretched out to nothingness, the shadow of fences and hedges blurring at the top of the next hill and a low mist drifting at their knees.

“Markus Feehily, I'm appalled.”

“Call the guard,” Mark chuckled, and began to walk ahead, between the high rows. Wheat maybe. Nicky hadn't a clue. Nicky followed closely, mostly so he wouldn't trip, and as the stalks swallowed them up he found Mark's hand. Felt it squeeze his for a moment before it wriggled away.

“No?”

“We're almost there.”

“How can you tell?” Nicky complained. Mark snorted. He could hear laughter somewhere, now. Music. When he looked back he could only just see the street lamps, too far away. Swore when his foot dropped into a hole and he almost fell. Mark steadied him.

He looked up. Gaze unreadable, a face cast in shadow. Then Mark was pulling ahead, leading him toward a circle of light.

“Lads.” Nicky accepted the beer that Kian pressed into his hand. There was no point commenting, he supposed. Mark was going to do this whether he was here or not and he didn't want to make a thing out of it in front of his friends. “Chips over there if you want them.”

“Thanks.” Nicky glanced toward a plank of wood propped between two tree stumps, scattered with bowls and open bottles. The place was lit by two barrels, each a makeshift fire-pit far enough away from the crop to not be dangerous, though with all the rain Nicky doubted anything could catch. There were groups of teenagers giggling and warming their hands over the flames.

“Cheers.” Mark reached out his bottle. Kian clinked it, then helped himself to a long gulp, ending on a burp.

“That your house?” Nicky asked.

“No,” Kian chuckled. “Emma's folks are visiting her nan for the weekend so we figured we'd take over. Cheers, Emma!” A girl stood by the nearest barrel waved back. “Not as cool as your showbusiness parties.”

“Why don't you have it inside if the house is empty?”

“Stopped that when Simon McCory's place got trashed. It's easier to clean up. This one'd know. He threw up in the pool.” Mark pretended to look nonchalant, though Nicky knew if it wasn't for the darkness his cheeks'd be red.

“Did ya now.” Nicky took a sip of his beer.

“Ate something that didn't agree with me.”

“The lemon and salt from all those tequila shots, was it?” Mark shrugged, eyes anywhere but Nicky. “Or the joint Michael said was definitely just pot.”

“I didn't even inhale,” Mark mumbled, while Nicky stared, shocked. “Um.” He leaned over to grab a bowl of crisps. “Wasn't my thing.” He stoppered his mouth with a handful of salt and vinegar, then held the bowl out to Nicky, who took one. “Hey, there's Derrick. I'll just...” He wandered off quickly, leaving Nicky stood with a crisp in one hand and a beer in the other, in the middle of a fucking field.

“Cheers for coming. Everyone's been wanting to meet you.”

“Oh... yeah. No problems,” Nicky said absently, then shook himself when the words filtered through. “Everyone?”

“Yeah. I mean, I was just telling my sister, right, and you know how word gets around. Reckon you've a few lasses interested. S'pose that's the price of fame, though.” He laughed nervously. “So... I sent out some tapes today. New name. Don't tell the others. They were all arguing about it and I figured it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, like. Might not come to anything.”

“What did you go with?”

“Er... Freddie and the Life. I thought it had a ring to it.”

“You named it after Mark? Won't the others be annoyed?”

“Yeah. Probably. But like, we bullshit about how everyone's equal in the band and all the rest of it, but at the end of the day I know who people are coming out to see. It's not us lot standing in the back. You know who plays keyboards in Bon Jovi?” Nicky had to admit he didn't. “Exactly. I'm not dumb enough to throw away my one shot because someone else might get all the glory.”

“You write the songs, though.”

“Good. We make it I'll get some coin off the royalties.”

“Freddie and the Life.” It rolled on his tongue. “Yeah. It sounds good. Bit o' craic, not too soft either.” He sank down beside Kian, putting on his best radio voice. “Next Friday at The Point, Freddie and the Life! Tickets selling fast!”

“The Point? Yeah right.”

“When it happens you owe me front row seats.” He glanced toward where Mark was stood talking to a couple of the other boys, though he kept looking over worriedly. “You've got a good head on you, Kian.” Kian was going to protest. “You do. I reckon you've got this all figured out.” He looked at Mark's friend. “Just... make sure you take care of him, alright? Don't let him do anything stupid.”

“Yeah. Course.” Kian was looking baffled, but he seemed sincere. “He's alright, though. Bit of an eejit.”

“Aren't we all,” Nicky muttered. He took a swig of his beer. “Where's the toilet around here?”

“You're looking at it.” Kian gestured into the darkness. “Aim downhill.” He stood up, and began to head over to where the others were stood. “Front row, right?” he teased over his shoulder.

Nicky chuckled and pushed into the high grass.

  
  


*

  
  


He hung back most of the night. Found a quiet spot by himself to sit while the party rotated around him. A few people started random conversations with him and he nodded along, nursing his beer while they smoked and drank and got up to dance to the boombox set in the grass nearby. Kian's cousin Gillian showed up, but Shane was nowhere to be seen, and Nicky sat with her awhile, chatting about not much.

And he watched Mark. Watched him finish one vodka and go back for a refill. Get involved in a loud, laughing conversation that ended in playful hugs and punches. Shy, sweet little Mark suddenly taller than everyone else and slouching through the party, smiling openly instead of hiding behind his mam's skirt and sucking his thumb.

He looked like he belonged.

Nicky was so happy for him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He shook himself. Realised he'd been staring. That a tear was tracking down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly. “Sorry. Just tired.” Gillian nodded.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” he admitted. Didn't know what to say, because everything sounded selfish. Trying to keep Mark the same. Keep him Nicky's Mark when he wasn't any more. Was a young man Nicky wasn't sure he knew.

Mark caught him staring. Raised his cup. Nicky raised his own back, saw the smile fall slightly when Mark saw Nicky's face.

“You okay?” he mouthed. Nicky nodded back. Got a worried smile in return. Then Mark was giving excuses and picking back across the field, between the glowing barrels. “Hey.”

“Hey.” They both looked around at the strum of an acoustic guitar. Kian was sat nearby on a stump. A few people were wandering over, starting a semi-circle. He fiddled with the pegs, then struck another chord. Looked up at Mark, winking.

“Think that's my cue. Erm...” He wandered off again, sat down nearby, and soon Kian was playing a mid-tempo melody, fingers moving on the fret like magic. Nicky recognised it instantly and sat back, laughing, when the two lads cheekily kicked into a song he'd gotten sick of on the radio two years before.

“ _You have so many relationships in this life, but only one or two will last...”_

“Thought they were too cool for Hanson?” Nicky joked as Kian cackled a laugh and Mark slapped him on the shoulder.

“Kian? No. God. I remember we used to put him in dresses when we were small and pretend to be The Bangles. He's a messer.” She grinned at him. “I've got photos if you ever need blackmail.”

“I'll take you up on it.” He watched in wonder as Mark started to Mmmbop his way cheerfully through the song, looking at Kian for approval. There was a clap starting through the assembled kids, even the ones Nicky had thought too cool for this. “Aren't they supposed to be metal?” She snorted a laugh.

“Maybe around the other lads. I've seen them singing Boyzone acapella with Shane backstage before the concerts. And Kian plays beautiful classical piano.” Nicky shook his head in surprise.

Hanson changed to The Cure, then to Weezer. Cheerful pop that Nicky hadn't expected of them at all. Slowed down into a ballad, then up again into Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.

They went on like that for almost an hour. Nicky was transfixed. Kian was right. It didn't matter about the others. It was the two of them. They fed each other. Were born to perform together, two notes on the same chord, building each other up so high Nicky suspected nobody would ever be able to stop them.

The party was winding down when he slipped away to pee. Found a handy spot where the rows were high enough to hide him and unzipped behind a tree; was just about to do himself back up when he heard a rustle behind him.

“Hey,” Mark whispered. Nicky nodded back. “You want to head home?” His hand found Nicky's. Squeezed. Nicky swallowed, felt him step closer, radiating heat. “Been wanting you all night.”

“Have you?” If that was true Mark had done a good show of mostly ignoring him. The thought was struck away when Mark leaned in to drag his open mouth up Nicky's throat. He smelled of beer. Hands settled on his waist, holding him.

“Come back to mine,” Mark whispered. Nicky moaned. “Like last night. When we...” Their hips collided stiffly. “Want you.”

“Mark...” Nicky managed breathlessly. He could hear movement around them. Other kids pushing between the rows off to wherever they were going. None too close. Thumbs stretched around to the front of his belt, hands following them, then down into the dip where he hadn't yet zipped up yet.

“Here.” The denim parted again. Mark sank to his knees. “Fuck.” His was kissing Nicky's stomach clumsily. Into his jeans with both hands and down enough to pull Nicky out through the fly. He was hard. Couldn't not be hard. “Can I?”

“Oh... Jesus.” He closed his eyes. “There are people.”

“They won't come.” Lips plucked at the head of him. “Oh fuck.” Nicky looked down to watch Mark's hand knead at his own crotch. “Fuck I'm close. You know how sexy...” Open and Nicky was garbling a groan when he was taken in. Just an experimental inch or so, but fuck. Warm. Wet.

“Mark,” he breathed. Felt it go deeper. “Mark, Christ.” His fingers tangled in hair stiff with gel. “That's...” His back collided with the tree, head tipping back, hair catching on stiff bark. Mark wasn't going deep, was licking clumsily around him, hand jerking the rest, but when he looked down again and saw eyes drowsy with want the technique ceased to matter. “Baby. Fuck.” He shivered. Shuddered again. Heard laughter in the distance and the rush of blood in his ears.

Mark opened his mouth wider. Sank down again. His other hand was on himself and Nicky...

Oh Jesus.

“Gonna come,” he gasped. Mark moaned around him and began to move faster. “Oh fuck. God ah, open your jeans so I can see...” There was a growl, then the rip of a fly. Mark was out, grip moving fast.

“Nicky? You still here?” It carried across the field, making them both jump. Gillian. “You forgot your jacket?” A silence while she waited for a response. Mark was still moving, fucking desperately onto Nicky's cock, into his own hand.

He came in that silence. Wove both his hands into Mark's hair and tasted blood when he bit his lip. Felt Mark swallow. The shiver of him that said he was close too.

“ _Nicky...?”_

“Shh,” Mark gasped. He was tugging himself faster. Nicky fell to his knees, kissed him hard. Tasted himself when Mark keened silently into his mouth. “Ah-uh.” It came out a whimper when they parted. “Oh god uh.” His eyes rolled back, jaw tensing. “Nicky.”

Nicky batted his hand out of the way. Took up the stroke. Mark gasped into into his shoulder. Clung with both arms while Nicky held him with one, other pumping roughly in the darkness.

“Uh,” Mark managed one last time. Nicky caught him. Slick through his grip and up his wrist in a moment, Mark's hips chasing his touch with ragged jerks.

When they were done he snuck back to the clearing. Gillian was still there, helping to clean up, and when he explained that he'd lost his jacket and had anyone seen it she grabbed it off a chair and handed it to him with no sign of noticing that he was a little out of breath. He thanked her and darted back into the rows.

They walked. It wasn't that far, only an hour, and it was nice to be strolling hand in hand with Mark, so late it was getting to be early, an odd witching hour where everything was still and quiet save the crickets in the trees and occasional low of a cow in the distance.

“You looked sad tonight,” Mark said softly, the first time either of them had spoken in a while. Nicky looked up from the roadside ditch he was trying not to stumble into.

“Not sad.” He squeezed Mark's hand. “Just... missing you in advance.” He leaned in to peck Mark's check. “Is that why you jumped me? Trying to cheer me up?”

“No. Or... I mean, yeah, sort of. The missing you part, not the cheering you up part. Not that I wanted it to not cheer you up, but...” He paused for them to watch an owl swoop low over the nearest field then disappear into a clutch of trees. Nicky snorted in surprise.

“Don't get that in the city.”

“No,” Mark murmured. “Are you still sad?”

“A little bit,” Nicky admitted. “But it's okay.” Their hands slipped apart as a Subaru started to pass behind them, then slowed alongside, blinding him momentarily with it's lights. He shielded his eyes, squinting as Mark stepped closer and peered in the window, said something, and went to open the back door.

“Come on.” Mark motioned him over. Shane, Nicky realised, when his eyes adjusted. Gillian sat beside him. “Lift.”

  
  


 


	10. Chapter 10

If this was being a couple, Nicky had to say he approved of it.

He hadn't really given it much thought before. He lived at home of course, with all the domesticity that entailed. Pitching in on chores and bantering over the television and all the rest of it. Being part of a unit that was bigger than himself. But no matter his age he'd always been the child in that scenario. Responsibility with a safety net. Someone to remind him to put his laundry in if he wanted clean clothes the next day.

It wasn't waking up to someone naked beside him. Kissing closed eyelids and feeling a chest rise and fall against his. Going back to sleep and waking to someone doing the same to him, with a sweet mouth that was sour with morning breath and a palm making reverent circles on his hip. Hearing I love you. Not from someone who'd been buying his underwear his whole life but from someone who saw him. Who'd grown to love him over time and knew the pieces of him he'd always tried to keep hidden.

Maybe that was how it'd be, later on. When school was over and they'd grown up a little. Maybe they'd wake up together like this every morning, in a flat they could afford filled with photos of the two of them and furniture they'd picked out together. Mark's worn stuffed bear he'd had since his baptism on a shelf next to Nicky's old football trophies.

It didn't matter that Mark had changed. They both had. Would keep changing.

Nicky just wanted things to stay like this.

“I love you,” he breathed, as fingers traced up his ribs. Eyes still closed and Mark touching him experimentally. “Please,” he added. Hard from sleep. He could feel himself aching.

“Oh.” Soft. Their foreheads leaned together. “Nick.”

“Mark.” A thigh brushed his erection. He shuddered. “Touch me, baby, please.” Shivered out a groan when Mark's thumb traced his nipple. Another at a mouth pressing to his throat. Too good. Not able to see where Mark was going next, his body becoming a lazy livewire, all sleepy sensitivity, warm in the blankets. He hissed when the thumb pressed harder, then pinched nipple to forefinger, squeezing. “Ah...”

“Sorry. I didn't hurt...”

“No. Oh.” He scrunched his eyes tighter. “Feels good.” A hesitation later, then Mark was closing a pinch around it again, increasing the pressure. Rolling a little. Nicky moaned. Shifted onto his back and let Mark chase him, the heavier boy on top of him and pressing him into the sheets, mouths finding each other while Mark played first one nipple then the other.

Nicky hadn't expected to like it. Hadn't thought of himself as being all that sensitive, but it was something else. The sloppy kisses while his hips found a rhythm, the intense pressure every time Mark gave him a teasing twist. Just enough. Then when he raked his fingernails up Mark's shoulders and wrapped his legs around supple hips he heard a whimper that made him tip his head back and gasp a warning.

“Do it again,” Mark rasped. Nicky gulped. Did. Opened his eyes to see Mark's mouth purse and his eyes roll back at the hard touch. The flush in his cheeks when Nicky scraped his nails up the back of Mark's neck and dragged him into another hard snog.

It was late when they finally staggered out of bed. Mark sat up first, then slouched forward to allow Nicky to sit behind him, Nicky's arms finding Mark's waist and mouth finding the pale red lines of scratches.

“Is it bad?”

“It's gorgeous,” Nicky whispered. Kissed into soft muscle when Mark tilted his head to the side. “Cover it with a t-shirt.”

“They sting a bit.”

“You liked it, though?”

“Yeah,” Mark admitted. “Is that weird?”

“No.” Their hands linked on Mark's chest. He realised he hadn't seen Mark properly naked like this before, though it didn't feel odd. “Not weird. Sexy.” Mark harrumphed a laugh. “Telling me what you wanted like that. It's a huge turn-on.”

“What if I want other things?”

“What things do you want?”

“Don't know,” Mark said shyly. Nicky kissed his shoulder again and waited for him to continue. “I just um. I thought about this. A lot. And it's not the same and so I don't really know what I'm supposed to want.”

“Not the same in a bad way?”

“No!” Mark protested. “No, course not.” He glanced over his shoulder, his frown falling away when he realised Nicky was just teasing. “Dunno. You know. Like sex is different in movies. It's less messy and people don't laugh as much and I just thought maybe it'd be...” He shrugged. “Like the other night when we were outside I was really nervous but then it felt good and it wasn't like romantic or anything, but it sort of was because it was you and then I went off really fast and felt like an eejit.” He mumbled the end. Nicky couldn't stop smiling. “You know.”

“You're not an eejit,” Nicky promised. “It wasn't the way I thought either,” he admitted.

“No?”

“No.” Nicky turned him just enough to skate a kiss to his mouth. “It was better.” Mark twisted shyly into his arms until his legs were draped over Nicky's lap. “We'll figure it out. We're getting better already, I reckon.” Mark giggled, then his eyes widened.

“What?”

“Er...” Blue eyes darted away. “Sorry in advance?”

“What?” Nicky laughed. Felt where Mark had been looking and hissed when he found a tender spot. “Did you hickey me?” he yelped. Mark was trying not to laugh which didn't make things better. He shoved his boyfriend off. Charged to the mirror.

“Sorry.” Going red and purple just above his collarbone. He swore he could see teeth in it, vaguely remembered them biting at each other when he'd been clawing Mark's back but hadn't paid it much mind.

“What am I supposed to do about this?”

“Wear a t-shirt?” Mark suggested weakly. Nicky crossed his arms, though when Mark stifled another laugh he had to laugh himself. “It matches my scratches at least?”

“Very fashion forward,” Nicky agreed. He crossed back over to give Mark a gentle shove and a peck on the forehead. Arms wrapped around his waist to pull him in and he smiled when he got an apologetic nuzzle above his navel. Wove his fingers through dark hair in reply.

“Guess you're mine now,” Mark murmured into his skin.

“Guess I am,” Nicky whispered back.

  
  


*

  
  


They lazed around the house most of the day. There wasn't much else to do and it was better here, on their own where they didn't have to watch themselves. Nicky hadn't minded being at the party but already he was coming to realise how natural it felt just to take Mark's hand or kiss him when he was nearby. He didn't fancy having to stop himself from feeling the way he did. It was enormous. Like if he squashed it all down inside himself a button would pop somewhere and it'd come spilling out again to fill up the whole room.

It had been well and good loving Mark from afar. Wrestling with complicated feelings he didn't know how to make into words. Now, sat on the sofa together while Mark did the TV Guide crossword, he felt it overwhelm him.

“Six down,” Mark said. “Literary Detective Jessica.”

“Fletcher.”

“Cool.” Mark wrote it in carefully. “Um...” He peered at the page. “That makes eight across Jetsons and nine down...” He pursed his lips. “What's the name of yer man in the scarf who was Doctor Who?”

“Tom Baker?”

“Grand.” Mark scribbled that in as well. He looked up. Realised Nicky was staring. “What?”

“You're gorgeous.”

“Oh. Right.” He looked shyly back at the crossword. “Well you're clearly blind or mental but suppose that's your business.” He sucked on the end of the pen while Nicky looked at him in surprise. “Er... twelve down.”

“Markus Feehily.”

“Doesn't fit.” Mark still wasn't looking up. Nicky crawled toward him, saw a wary grimace. “What?” He laughed when Nicky began to pepper kisses all over his face. “Nicky!” Hands batted him away, though Nicky just pressed in harder until Mark whacked him with the TV Guide. Nicky pulled it from his grasp and tossed it to the floor.

“Stop it.” He put his hands on red cheeks. Tilted Mark's gaze up to meet his. “Hey.” A disbelieving smile back. “Gorgeous,” he said firmly. Mark opened his mouth to argue. Nicky sealed it with a hard kiss.

When it broke he picked up the magazine, handed it back to Mark, then flopped back into his spot. Mark was still giggling, his cheeks red.

“What was that about?”

“Making a point.” He nudged Mark's knee with his own. “Mostly that I have excellent taste.” Mark bit his lip. “You're certainly the best looking boy I've ever snogged.” A foot kicked petulantly out at him.

“You don't have to mess me about.”

“I'm not.” He tilted his head. “I have this photo of you at home. Of us. From last year before... you know. Everything.” A tongue darted out nervously. “I think I spent all year looking at it. Like, when I was trying to figure out what was going on in my head and whether I was...” He hesitated. “Gay. Bisexual. Whatever.”

“Are you?”

“I still don't know,” Nicky admitted. “All I know is whenever I felt totally lost I just looked at that picture and you were smiling in it and I was smiling as well and it was all I needed to know that I don't mind what I am. Because I want to be that with you.” Mark was biting his lip now, pinning a smile beneath his front teeth. “I thought about you but I didn't know what it'd be like. Not really.”

“Sorry to let you down.”

“Stop it,” Nicky scolded. “You get over here right now and let me worship you.” He grabbed Mark's feet, began to pull. Mark yelped but it was too late. He slid down onto the seat as Nicky launched himself on top, growling. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Mark chuckled. “Um.” The TV Guide was on the floor again. “What's the plan?” Nicky snorted and rested his head on a broad chest as arms wrapped around him.

He lay there for long minutes just listening to Mark's heart beat. Mark let him. After a while a hand began to stroke gently up and down Nicky's spine and he felt himself drift to it, eyes closing at a kiss on his hair.

“Can I tell you about a dream I have sometimes?” he asked finally. The arm around him tightened in reply. “You remember when we went to that travelling carnival when we were small? Maybe six or seven. There was that haunted house and I got frightened of the man outside dressed like a zombie?”

“You ran away and got lost.”

“Yeah,” Nicky laughed. He'd let go of his dad's hand and before he'd known it he'd been lost in the crowd. In this big field far from home. They'd been calling for him, apparently. All he'd known was that everyone was very tall and he couldn't find his way out. “Anyway, in my dream I get lost like that again. Except it's night-time and I can't see and everything's lit up and I don't know where I am but I know I'm scared.” He'd gone to a nearby cake stall and they'd called his parents over the PA system. Had been reunited after all of five minutes.

Mark had been crying. They'd held hands the whole rest of the day, afraid they'd lose one another, had refused to let go even to go on rides. There was a picture of the two of them cuddled up on the same painted horse on the roundabout, Nicky behind, Mark in front, and both of them laughing and clinging to the reins.

“Well, in my dream it's not my dad who comes to get me. It's you.” He looked up. “It's always you. Then when I got older it was still you except you'd look like the last time I saw you and you'd hug me and say it was going to be okay, and you'd hold my hand until I woke up.” He breathed in Mark's scent, let it out. “Even in my dreams you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. You change every year but that doesn't. It's just a different Mark who comes to save me, and he's as good as the last one.

“I'll always find you,” Mark whispered. Nicky nodded into his neck.

“I know.”

  
  


*

  
  


Nicky woke later to the phone ringing. He wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep. Couldn't have been out long judging by the light. An hour or so, maybe a little more. He heard Mark in the hall. The ringing stopped.

“Hello? Hey mam. No. I'm fine.” Nicky smiled. Checking up on their little boy, apparently. He sat up blearily. Yawned and closed his eyes again, trying to shake off the nap. “Don't worry about it. Nicky's here so we've been hanging out. Of course no parties!” He laughed. Nicky rolled his eyes. “Just had the lads around for practice. Yeah, gig went well.”

Nicky opened his eyes again. Blinked sleepily, then paused when his gaze fell on an open notebook, the top page covered in familiar handwriting and a pen sat on top.

“What's this?” he asked. Mark had just stepped out of the hall.

“Oh, er...” He grimaced. “Was working on something. It's stupid.”

“It's good.” Nicky skimmed the sheet quickly. “These all yours?” He began to flick. The pages were filled with poems and song lyrics. Scribbled phrases circled with coloured pen. “You didn't say you'd been writing.”

“I didn't mean anything by it. Kian does all our writing anyway.”

“Yeah, but...” He paused on one, the page ringed with a jagged zigzag _“Been scared to tell you how I feel. It's not a passing thing I know it's real.”_ He looked up again. “When did you write that?”

“Two years ago maybe,” Mark mumbled.

“Have you shown anyone these?” Mark shook his head. “You're in a band and you're writing all these great songs!”

“They're not good enough.” Nicky was stunned when the book was snatched quickly away from him. “It's just... it's doodling or whatever. Like a diary. I just think better in poems and stuff.” He was going red. “It's too personal.”

“Even for me?” Mark pursed his lips. “You don't have to show me if you don't want.”

“It's just for me,” he said. Nicky nodded. “I'll go put it away, then we can have lunch or something? Um...” He blustered out of the room. Came back without the book. “That was my folks, anyway. Dad said he'd come get me if I wanted seeing as the gig's over? Then I can go spend the rest of the holiday with them.”

“Oh.” Nicky's stomach sank. “Did you want to?”

“No. Said you were taking care of me.” He winked. Nicky had to laugh, relieved. “Sandwich?”

“I'll help.” Nicky stood. Let himself get caught in an embrace as he passed Mark. It was the best place to be. Settled into his arms again, head on Mark's shoulder. “Mm.”

“Mm.” Mark agreed. Then his stomach growled. They both laughed.

“Two sandwiches,” Nicky teased, and headed for the kitchen.

 


	11. Chapter 11

“Bit warm for such a high collar, isn't it?” Gillian whispered. Nicky glared at his sister.

“You'd know, would you?” he retorted. Their parents were just out of earshot, on a towel in their bathers while Adam splashed around in the shallows. He'd tried a few methods of covering it. Brushing his hair down, a dab of makeup he'd stolen from his parents' bathroom counter, but if anything it was more purple than it had been the morning before when Mark had made it.

He kept touching it. Knew it was a stupid, embarrassing, teenaged thing to be proud of, but it was his. Evidence that he belonged to someone.

“Does he have a matching one?”

“What, collar? I think we're different sizes.”

“Yeah, good one.” She was in her swimsuit too. Nicky was wearing his trunks and a polo shirt, the collar flipped up. Had said he felt a bit off and not like swimming but he'd come down for the craic. “Do ya need condoms, by the way? I can sort ya out.”

“I'll be okay.” He crossed his arms. A nice day, bit overcast. He'd popped home that morning for a change of clothes, decided to stay at least for lunch. Mark had a band thing anyway until the afternoon.

“You can take the shirt off. Everyone knows you're shagging.”

“I don't need to advertise it in front of my parents. Cheers though.” He touched his shoulder again without thinking. “I'm in love with him,” he admitted. “Like, so much I think it might actually kill me when we go back home.” He turned to find her nodding silently, eyes trained on the water. “I never felt like this about anyone. Like everyone else I dated was just holding a place.”

“How much school's he got left?”

“Another year.” He sighed. “Am I jumping into things?”

“Is that a bad thing?” Nicky shrugged. “You've always loved him, Nico. Maybe it wasn't like this, but I have to admit I was jealous when we were kids. We'd all come away together and instead of hanging out with me my little brother would drop me as soon as his friend showed up. We were thick as thieves at home and as soon as Mark was here it was like I was invisible.”

“I'm sorry.” He was surprised. “I never meant it like that.”

“I know you didn't. And it's fine. All I'm saying is if he'd been a girl our parents would have been saying he was your little girlfriend and joking about booking the chapel for twenty years down the track. I remember one year you cried all the way home after he wouldn't let go of your hand.”

“I was crying because he was sad,” Nicky mumbled. He remembered that. Eleven years old maybe. He'd been trying to cheer Mark up, wanted to leave happily, but once they were out of sight all he'd been able to think was that it was a whole year before he saw his best friend again. “You don't mind that he's a boy?”

“If someone looked at me that way I don't think I'd mind what they were.” An arm draped companionably round his shoulders. “If you love him and he's good to you, he's family. I know mam and dad feel the same. And if he's bad to you I'll break his fingers.”

“Cheers Gill.” His laugh cracked, overwhelmed. “I don't know what I am. I'm just in love with him.”

“Good place to start.” She stepped away. “I'm going for a swim. You stay up here sweltering if you want.” Sand kicked up as she broke into a jog, barrelled into the water beside Adam, who squealed at the splash, then again when she grabbed him round the waist and yanked him into the water. Nicky snorted. Saw his mam waving at him from her towel. He waved back.

Sod it.

He ran after them, peeling off his shirt as he went.

  
  


*

  
  


Mark came over after band practice. He looked nervous, still, but after an hour of sitting bolt upright on the sofa while they all watched a movie that evening Nicky was able to coax him into something like comfort. An arm around his shoulder that earned a look of panic until he realised that Nicky's folks didn't mind at all.

“Mam says that Mark's your boyfriend now,” Adam said, just as they were all starting to pack it in. Nicky felt Mark stiffen.

“He is. Yeah.” Adam studied both of them. “We've been friends for a long time and this year we decided that we felt more than that.” He smiled at Mark, who was going red.

“It's very nice,” his mam agreed. “Now off to bed with you.” Adam grumbled his way toward the stairs. “Sorry if I overstepped,” she said when he was gone. “He was asking questions.”

“S'alright. He was okay?”

“Seems so.” She nodded at them. “You two staying up?”

“Just for a little while.”

“No bother. I've locked the doors, but make sure the lights are off before bed.” Nicky's dad was lurking at the bottom of the stairs. “We'll see you in the morning.” She bent to kiss his cheek, then turned to kiss Mark's as well. “Night, loves.”

“Night.” He reached for the remote to turn the television down a bit. Mark was still nestled under his arm, though Nicky tugged the nearby blanket over them now that they were alone together.

There was silence for a while apart from the murmur of the late movie. Nicky was just dozing to the rhythm of breaths against him, the brush of hair beneath his chin. There was a hand on his hip, kept making soothing circles while his own fingers played at the hem of Mark's sleeve.

“Go to bed?”

“Yeah,” Nicky yawned. He'd nodded off, he realised. Where last he'd seen Harrison Ford jumping off the dam they were now rolling the credits. He supposed they'd found the one-armed man or whatever.

The bed was still too small for two. Nicky didn't mind. Was too sleepy and Mark seemed to fit perfectly in the crook of his arm, head on Nicky's chest. He smiled at a peck on his chin.

“Do you think my parents will be okay as yours?” Mark said quietly.

“I don't know.” Soft hair slid through his fingers. “I hope so. Do you think they won't be?”

“I don't know. They've never talked about it.” Thoughtful silence. Nicky kept stroking his hair, though he could feel Mark's heart beating fast. “Maybe I don't need to tell them. They won't be back until just before you leave, and then by next year I'll have finished school and that way if they kick me out it won't be so bad.”

“You think they will?”

“No. Probably not.” Mark exhaled shakily. “Can you tell them for me?”

“Marie. Oliver. I'm defiling your son.”

“Fuck off.” Nicky giggled at a gentle slap on his stomach. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I wish it didn't matter so much.”

“I know.” Nicky had to admit he'd been thinking about it too. Whether it would make life harder, him being with a boy. They certainly couldn't get married. Not that he was thinking that far ahead. But he did wonder if maybe being honest about it might hamper his opportunities in life. Strange looks and getting denied jobs. People weren't always kind.

He was lucky to have his family. He knew that. Couldn't imagine walking back into work in a few weeks time and announcing he had a boyfriend, or sharing that at the local with his mates.

There wasn't much to do about it, though. Not after midnight cuddled up in a single bed.

So he slept instead.

  
  


*

  
  


It was late when Nicky woke. An overcast morning, drizzling rain and a sense of humid stillness to the house. He could hear the mumble of the TV downstairs, supposed everyone was already up.

He was alone.

He was just pondering that when the door creaked open and Mark slipped back in dressed in his clothes from the day before. Nicky blinked at him.

“Just putting my bike under cover,” Mark explained. Nicky yawned in reply. “Brought food.”

“Cheers.” There was a plate in Mark's hand, the waft of bacon steadily filling the room. “Breakfast in bed. Romantic.”

“Your mam told me to bring it up.”

“Not quite so romantic,” Nicky laughed. Mark sat down beside him to steal a rasher. Beans, toast, and bacon. Nicky picked up the fork rested on the side of the plate.

It rained all that day. They stayed in. Nicky expected Mark to want to go back to his so they could be alone but he seemed quite content joining in on family boardgames and watching the videos Nicky's dad ducked out to grab.

The next morning it was still raining. He woke to a soft mouth trailing down his chest. Tender bites on his nipples. The house was silent, the light still dim where the sun hadn't quite come up. Mark's hand was groping up the inside of his thigh.

“Baby,” Nicky breathed. Tongue finding the curve of his hip.

“It's okay?”

“Yes,” he groaned. Mark snorted into the crease of his thigh.

After he'd come Mark snuggled back into his arms. There was cum on his chin. Nicky wiped it away with a tissue, laughing.

“It was okay?”

“It was perfect.” He pecked Mark's nose. “You know what you're doing?”

“No. Just... felt right.”

“You want me to do it to you?”

“Not if you don't want to,” Mark said quickly. “I um. I just thought it'd be good, like. The other night you liked it and I liked doing it so.” He was rushing. “I know you're not like gay or whatever.”

“I want to,” Nicky decided. He hadn't done it, Mark was right. Not because he didn't want to but because he knew where he was with a wank and Mark hadn't seemed interested in asking for it. Now he was wondering. What Mark tasted like. Whether it would feel like that for Mark, so wet and tight around him. He'd not been sure what he'd been doing going down on girls either and they'd never seemed entirely impressed. At least this time he knew how the equipment worked.

“Nicky?”

“Get on your back.” Mark did, clumsily, while Nicky tried to scramble out from under him and not get tangled in the blanket. “Okay.”

“You sure?”

“Course I am.” He looked down. Mark was hard. Beautiful. Nicky could already see the places he'd be filled out by next year, the last spurt of adulthood. Dark hair in his pits and spattering his chest, arrowing down to a thatch of dark hair that nestled his cock. He could feel leg hair when he settled himself on Mark's thighs. “Any tips?”

“I don't have a guide-book!” Mark laughed. Nicky giggled as well. “Um. He squirmed a little while Nicky looked at him.

“You're so gorgeous,” Nicky murmured. He hadn't had proper time to look before. Ran his hand down Mark's chest, back up with a flattened palm. Felt the hitch where he was trying to suck his stomach in. “Don't do that.” He bent to lick around Mark's navel, felt him tremor at the tickle, then let go when he started to laugh. “Gorgeous.” Soft under his mouth.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” He nibbled into the curve of Mark's hip. “So sexy,” he breathed. Mark's breath was rising. Not from embarrassment. Turned on. Nicky could feel the hard ridge of him where it pressed again his chest when he bent lower. He spread thick thighs with both hands, felt the muscle beneath flex under his touch. Lapped up and felt the first brush of balls against his nose.

He breathed in. Pointed his tongue out to run over them experimentally. Musky. A slight taste of sweat and dark arousal. Mark's breath hitched. Hitched again, stifling a whimper.

Dark eyes peered back at him when he looked up. He grinned back. Heard Mark gulp.

“Nick.” It was almost silent. Nicky lapped again, over the hairy hang of him and to the root. Fragile and hard, like velvet over steel. Nice. He couldn't say he'd seen an awful lot of cocks outside of porn but he liked this one. Liked the way it responded against his mouth, leaking a drop of fluid that tasted like salt on his tongue.

A hand ran fitfully through Nicky's hair. He caught the palm on the way past. Bit it gently then let it go as Mark's thighs opened further and he sank down.

Mark gasped. Nicky closed his eyes. Got a little in and sucked experimentally. Not bad at all. Tasted like Mark smelled. A hot, blood-tight salt that swelled on his tongue when he let a little more in and it pressed to the roof of his mouth, his lips pulled back to hold his teeth out of the way and hand filling the space he couldn't take in.

But better than that was the sound of him. The feel of him. Starting a careful bob, and that hand settling back on his hair. The way the bedsprings creaked whenever Mark arched against the mattress. His name in every quiet breath.

“I'm gonna.” It was a low rasp Nicky hadn't heard before. “Christ Nick I'm.” Fingers tugged in warning at his hair. Nicky didn't stop. Sped his hand and felt the bloom of taste that said orgasm was close behind.

Mark came almost silently. Nicky watched. Saw him grit his teeth, his face go red. Felt his own mouth flood and heard the breathless keen Nicky was guilty of himself when he was wanking in his bedroom at home. The one that didn't want other people to hear but needed that release. Some sound to distract from the wave of pleasure.

He swallowed what he could. Hadn't expected that of himself, but it was down before he knew it. Not unpleasant. Just more of Mark. Of the boy he loved who was panting on the bed, eyes shocked wide open.

Nicky crawled up. Snuggled into his chest while he recovered, not sure what to say. If he was meant to say anything.

“You think anyone heard?” Mark whispered finally. Nicky smirked.

“Too late to worry now.” He looked up. Mark was smiling sleepily at him. “I liked that.”

“Me too.” Mark pursed his lips. “Is that what it's like being with a girl? Like, all wet and stuff?”

“No. It's...” Nicky tried to think how to explain. “It's just different. I liked it well enough, but I like this better. Being with you.” He brushed their noses together, saw Mark smile.

“I like being with you too.”

  
  


*

  
  


“Where have you been!?”

“Er...” Mark looked baffled. Nicky had to admit he was a bit confused himself. They'd just been cheerfully locking their bikes to the signpost outside the Record Room, had been intending a bit of a browse and some lunch now the weather had eased off. “Hello Kian.”

“I've been calling you three days!”

“Oh.” He exchanged a look with Nicky. “Sorry. We've been out a bit.”

“Well that's not bloody use to me is it?” He waved a battered flip-phone in Mark's face. “I keep telling you lot to get one. How'm I supposed to organise things if you're off wandering about?” He shoved it back in his pocket. Nicky snorted. He'd been meaning to get a mobile phone himself but they were expensive and he didn't quite see the need when there were payphones for emergencies. “We got a gig!”

“Oh, cool. Birthday party or something?”

“No, an _actual_ gig!” Kian exclaimed. “There's a festival in Kilkenny. Unsigned bands. I got us on the bill!” He reached into his pocket again, thrust a piece of paper out. Mark unfolded it. A flier. “Sent them our CD and they bloody loved it!”

“Freddie and the Life?” Mark read. He glanced up at Kian. “That's not us.”

“It is now! You were right!” He yanked Nicky into a sudden hug that left him breathless and surprised. “I tried six months ago when they did the last one and they weren't interested.” He grinned at Mark. “It's huge. Agents and producers and stuff go. I was talking to the promoter and there's all these other bands that started there, nobodies like us who get noticed.”

“This...” Mark held it up into the light. “Oh my god.” He covered a giggle with his free hand. “Holy shit!” He swept Kian up into a hug, leaving Nicky smiling stupidly at both of them. “You're a fucking genius!” Two elderly ladies passing gave him a dirty look. “Sorry.”

“It's soon,” Nicky pointed out.

“Yeah. Apparently some other band dropped out and they called us.” He was beaming. “Asked if we could make it at short notice. I was like I dunno, we're booked up all over the place, really smooth like, then I said sure we'd shuffle things around.”

“We don't have things.”

“They don't know that,” Kian laughed. “Band meeting and practice at Derrick's tonight, alright? Nicky? You coming?”

“I'm not in the band.”

“Yeah, but we need you.” His hand was grabbed hard, almost desperate. “Please. Tell us what's wrong and we'll fix it. You can be our test audience. Watch us play and stuff. They'll listen if it's you.”

“I don't know if...”

“Come,” Mark interrupted. “Please.”

“Sure I'll come.” He tore away from the meaningful look he was getting. Kian was buzzing too much to notice. “Yeah. That's brilliant, Kian. I'm so happy for you.” The flier was still in Mark's hand.

It took a few hugs but eventually Kian skipped off leaving the two of them stood next to their bikes.

“I'm not in the industry, you know that,” Nicky scolded. Blue eyes darted away. “Why are you leading him on?”

“I just...” He was going red. “Sorry. He was excited and I figure if they listened to you last time they might listen again. Stop everyone fighting all the time.”

“Fighting?”

“Yeah. Nobody ever agrees and we don't get anything done,” Mark explained. “It's been different since they thought you were important. Like the other day everyone actually stuck in and paid attention. Usually Michael gets bored after an hour and he and Derrick end up smoking outside while Gray and Kian practice. I just want to shout at them.”

“Why don't you?”

“Because they're already shouting. We need someone who says the right things so they'll listen. That's you.”

“You're using me?”

“No!” Mark protested. “I'm just... needing a leg-up.” He sighed, obviously realising Nicky was annoyed. He wasn't sure why exactly. Hadn't minded giving his opinion the week before when he'd been asked. He just felt like a liar. Like he was in over his head and if he was found out it wouldn't end well for any of them.

“I won't lie.”

“I don't need you to. Just say what you think.” Nicky pursed his lips. “Please? We're really close. We just need a boot in the arse.” It sounded sensible, in theory. A hand brushed his surreptitiously. “You'll come to the gig, though?”

“I wouldn't miss it,” Nicky admitted. He took the flier. Professional job this, not just done on the school photocopier. The five of them looked proper, all clustered around their instruments, Mark in the middle being broody. “Okay, fine,” he agreed. Mark began to smile. “You'll be the actual death of me, you know that?”

“Maybe.” Their hands brushed again. “Worse ways to go.”

  
  


 


	12. Chapter 12

“We're called _what?”_

“It was my idea,” Kian interrupted firmly before Derrick could launch himself at Mark or Nicky. He'd not look impressed when Nicky had walked in, but the others had given him congenial enough waves and so he'd cautiously sat down in the offered chair. “I couldn't think what else to put and nobody had come up with anyone better.”

“Right, so we're all just his backup band, are we?”

“Course not.” Kian had moved between Derrick and Mark at some point. “It's catchy, and anyway we've already had some interest so we can't change it back now.” He reached into his pocket. “October.” He held up the flier. “Paid gig.” Michael's sleepy eyes were widening.

“Isn't that...” He stood up to look closer. “Holy shit. Lads.” He took the flyer. “My cousin's friend Roxy got a two album contract after doing this. People go to this!” Graham was standing up as well. Mark skulked away while Derrick's attention was diverted, though the other boy still didn't look happy. “It's proper!”

“How much?” Derrick sulked.

“Enough to get us there and fed for the night,” Kian explained. “It's exposure. Don't you want to play somewhere that isn't the Sligo theatre? We're still Skrod. We're just... going incognito, like.”

“I don't want to go incognito.” Derrick was glaring. “I started this band.”

“We started this band,” Kian corrected. “And half the time you didn't even show up to practice.” He sounded annoyed, now. Nicky wondered if he could slink out the door until this was over, but there were too many people in the way. “This could be our big break and you're arguing about the name. I don't want to sit here being Skrod until I'm thirty, playing in your parents' garage.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Fine.” Kian crossed his arms. “Anyone who wants to do the festival and not fuck about arguing the name, raise your hand.” There was a cold silence. Then, slowly, Michael raised his hand. Mark did as well, looking sheepish.

“Graham?”

“Sorry, mate. It's not personal.” His hand went up as well. Derrick was going red.

“Right.” He looked around angrily. “Right.” There was a squeal of feedback when he yanked the guitar cord viciously from the amp. “Freddie, take your band and get the fuck out of my house.” Mark was looking at his shoes, bright red.

“Dez...”

“Who the fuck are you?” he snapped. Kian's lips pursed. “You look like someone who used to be my friend.”

“We are friends...”

“Take your fucking scab and get out.” He kicked at the leg of the foldout chair Nicky was still sat in, almost knocking it over. He jolted out if it just in time for Mark to steady him, his body between Nicky and Derrick already. Nicky would find a moment to love him for that later, when things weren't chaos.

Kian was cocking a punch. Graham pulled him away.

Then they were all outside, in an overgrown garden. Were standing there stunned when there was another burst of feedback and then an angry chord.

“What do we do now?” Michael asked, over the music. Kian's face was thunder.

“We find somewhere else and start practicing.” He was holding the guitar case he hadn't even gotten round to opening. “We've got a gig coming up.”

  
  


*

  
  


Mark's place was the obvious choice. Still empty for another week and with enough space in the living room to set up their instruments. The other boys loaded their kit into Graham's car while Mark and Nicky got a head start on their bicycles, and an hour later they were shifting the sofa and coffee table out of the way, plugging things into the closest wall sockets, and Mark and Nicky were surreptitiously scanning an eye about to make sure they hadn't left anything incriminating about the place.

They worked mostly in silence. Everyone seemed pretty rattled by Derrick's sudden departure from the band. Graham said something about giving him some time to readjust, but Kian just shook his head and kept plugging in cables, as though they all knew that there was no point.

“Is it better if I just leave?” Nicky asked Kian, when the other lads were outside having a pre-practice smoke. Mark had gone with them. Nicky wasn't going to ask. He'd looked stressed.

“Course not,” Kian replied gruffly. He paused what he was doing to study Nicky. “I'm doing the right thing, aren't I?” he said finally. Nicky didn't now what to say. The boy looked smaller suddenly. “It was me and him that started the band, but he doesn't...” He sighed. “I dunno.”

“What do you want?” Nicky sank down beside him on the sofa, which was half blocking the kitchen doorway.

“I want to be famous,” Kian admitted. “I want to be doing this in front of thousands of people and playing my guitar and singing. It's all I ever wanted.” He licked his lips. “Is it selfish if I say I don't care what packaging it comes in? I'll tip it all out and be a boyband if I have to. I don't know what the point of me is if I'm not on stage.” A smile flickered over his lips. Nicky returned it. “If this is the big time I'm going for it. And I want me and Freddie and the other lads to do it together.”

“Then you should go for it.” He patted Kian's knee. A hand covered his, a vulnerable moment of comfort. Nicky let it stay. “What are you going to do now?”

“Rearrange the music to cover our missing guitarist, start practicing like mad.” His gaze hardened. “I don't give a shit if the gig isn't a competition. We're going to win it.”

“Sounds like a plan.” The front door opened. They both looked up. Mark, sidling back through, though he paused. Nicky realised their hands were still joined on Kian's knee, and pulled away. Saw unsure eyes follow him.

Kian stood. Picked up his guitar as the others filed in. Mark slid in behind his microphone stand.

Nicky sat down to watch.

  
  


*

  
  


They rallied well. It took a few false starts, a few arguments over who needed to be where, but nobody seemed ready to start a fight. Nicky had an idea they were almost afraid to disagree in case it led to another storming out, but there was no sulking. Just four boys who were determined as hell. Nicky was proud of them.

They practiced until late. Probably for the best they were in an isolated area because when Nicky stepped outside for some air around eleven he could still hear them, the music booming out across the fields, a low echo that filled the world. And in the middle Mark, his voice almost a weapon, ricocheting off trees and fences, seeming to break out of the rest while Nicky stood there with his eyes closed, drifting in it.

Kian and Graham slept in Mark's brothers' beds. Michael on the sofa downstairs. Nicky went into Mark's parents room to sleep, woke to Mark slipping in with him, hands already edging up under his t-shirt. It was good. Silent and oddly claiming, Mark biting into his shoulders while Nicky clawed up his back and snatched him up into kiss after hard kiss.

They lay there for a while, in the silence of the house. Tensed when they heard footsteps, but it was just someone sneaking into the toilet at the end of the hall, passing without thought to the two snuggled up in the smell of what they'd done.

“Have to clean the sheets before your folks get back,” Nicky whispered. Mark snorted into his shoulder.

“Sorry about Derrick today.”

“It's okay.” His fingers found soft hair, a little damp with sweat. “Are you alright?”

“I think so. He never really liked me anyway.” A soft huff of breath that tickled Nicky's shoulder. “I didn't know Kian was going to call the band that. It wasn't personal or anything.”

“I know.” He pecked Mark's nose. “You sounded wonderful tonight.” Mark nuzzled shyly into him. “They know how talented you are. You'll kill it in Kilkenny.”

“I was surprised when Kian stood up for me.”

“Why?” Mark shrugged. “He's your friend. I know you get worried sometimes, but he really does like you. Maybe he's a bit serious, but I see the way you are around each other. Like the other night when you were messing about at the party. You two are meant to do this together.” He smiled, felt a tinge of sadness. “I'll come back next year and you two will be so close I won't know where you begin and he ends. I'll have to get his permission to spend time with you.”

“Not likely. Anyway, you were the one holding hands with him.”

“We were just having a chat,” Nicky promised. “He was a bit upset.” Mark didn't seem quite convinced, but Nicky supposed there wasn't much he could do about that. “He takes on a lot for you, you know?”

“I'd help if he wanted.”

“Let him know,” Nicky suggested. “Things might be tough for a bit. I'm sure he'd appreciate someone on his side.” Mark hummed thoughtfully. “You should head back to your bed, though.”

“Little bit longer? I'm not tired.”

“Course.” The hand on his chest had clenched possessively. “Don't let me fall asleep.”

  
  


*

  
  


They fell asleep, obviously.

The digital readout said just after nine, when Nicky opened his eyes in the direction of the alarm clock. Mark was still cuddled up to his chest, hand curled on his stomach and hair an unruly mess. The rest of the house seemed to be quiet.

“Mark,” he whispered. Mark grumbled against him. “Wake up, it's morning.”

“S'not.”

“Babe.” He couldn't help but laugh. “You need to get back to your room.” Fitful sigh. He slid carefully out from under Mark and sat up, which seemed to help things along. Mark rolled over onto his back and blinked at the ceiling.

“What?”

“We fell asleep,” Nicky explained. “The lads are here.” That registered. Mark sat up clumsily, eyes wide. “Morning.”

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” He was already rolling off the bed, trying to disentangle himself from the sheets. “Fuck...” He was naked too. Nicky giggled as he looked around sleepily for his pyjamas. “Er...”

“Slow down,” Nicky suggested. His boyfriend looked utterly panic-stricken. “All we have to do is...”

They both froze at a knock on the door.

“Nicky? You up?”

“Sort of Kian!” Nicky called back. “Give me a minute.”

“Cool. You seen Freddie? He's not in his room.”

“He's in here. We were just having a chat.” The doorknob began to turn. Mark dove toward the wardrobe. “We'll be out in a second, yeah? Meet you downstairs.”

“Cool.” It stopped turning, thank god, and Nicky heard sock-clad feet pad off down the hallway.

He looked toward Mark, who was trying to struggle one of his mam's dressing gowns on. It was pink and frilly and had ducklings on it.

“Is he gone?” Mark whispered.

“He's gone.” Nicky started to laugh. One arm in and the other one caught inside out, the rest of Mark flapping guiltily in the breeze. “That's a real look you've got going there. Might pitch it to the lads for stage wardrobe?” Mark looked down at himself, then began to sulkily peel the robe off. “Leave it on. It's sexy.”

“I'm not having you bloody... leer at me in my mam's pyjamas,” Mark said. Nicky covered his mouth with both hands to muffle his laughter. The blush didn't just stop at Mark's face. “Nicky!”

“Much better,” Nicky chuckled. The robe was on the floor now. “Here.” He reached under the sheets and fished out the boxer shorts and t-shirt that had gotten tangled with the covers. His own boxers were on the floor beside the bed, tshirt probably underneath somewhere. Mark didn't move. Arms crossed, face a devastating pout. “Come here,” Nicky urged, and was gratified when Mark began to slink over.

They wiped off with tissues. Mark wasn't too much of a mess but Nicky had been on the bottom and caught the brunt of it. He went to the bathroom to wash himself off with a cloth while Mark went downstairs to let the others know Nicky was brushing his teeth, and when he came down it was to four sleepy boys sitting in the living room.

“Morning,” Graham croaked from the floor. Nicky lifted a wave before depositing himself on a free end of the sofa. Michael was still at the other end, blanket up around his hips. “What's the plan for today?”

“Get some breakfast, then keep practicing,” Kian replied. He was in the armchair, a notebook on his lap. Nicky had a feeling he'd not slept much, from the dark circles under his eyes. “I've been working out a setlist. We've only got a six song set, so I reckon we keep it to maybe one cover in the middle, then bring our best originals. Stuff that really shows off our sound, but that we've got range as well. This can't just be any other gig.”

The kitchen was designated the war room. Nicky got the kettle on and started making toast for everyone, about the only thing in the house. They didn't seem to mind. Just sat around the kitchen table, Kian holding court with his notebook and each of them spilling crumbs on themselves. Nicky stole a piece for himself and wandered in and out, not sure whether it was his place to be involved.

But partly he was listening. Watching the way Kian rallied them all, made sure all of them were heard even though he was clearly in charge. The way he stroked egos while being realistic about their flaws at the same time.

“Right, that's four. Reckon we need a ballad.” They all looked at each other. “Something for the lasses.”

“Ask Nicky. He's the one getting himself away,” Michael laughed. Nicky snorted. They'd not mentioned the hickey the day before, in all the madness, but Nicky had seen Graham and Michael whispering and laughing. “Even my girlfriend isn't interested in me half the time.”

“Think that's a conversation to have with her,” Nicky teased. Mark was watching him carefully. “Come on lads. You know how it is.”

“Who was it then? Looks fresh. Must be local.”

“Might be,” Nicky hedged. “Family friend.”

“She go to school with us?”

“Who?”

“Your lass?”

“What lass?”

“Ah, he's playing cagey,” Graham grumbled. “You city boys, coming up here and smashing our gash and what are we supposed to do?”

“Promise it's not someone you want,” Nicky laughed, though his stomach was fluttering with what he knew he was about to blurt out next. “It's fine. He's a class lad.” Kian was still laughing, though it petered out. They were all staring at him.

“Oh,” Michael said. “Right then.” The look he was getting wasn't entirely negative. More curious, like he'd just landed on earth and told them black holes smelled of raspberry fizz. They were all exchanging gazes now, waiting for someone else to start. Graham took the intiative.

“Sorry. Didn't know you were a gayer, like.” He glanced at Kian, who was studying Nicky.

“I'm not.”

“Oh right. Must've heard wrong then. Thought you said you were snogging a lad, so.”

“I am.” He reached for another slice of toast. Mark was staring at the table like a stork, though one who'd just realised the fish coming up towards him was actually a hungry shark. “Just... like who I like, don't I?” They all looked baffled at that one. “It's not a big deal, lads.”

There was a long silence. Nicky realised they were all looking at Kian.

“Suppose it's not,” Kian said finally. “Fair play and all that.” He looked back down at his notebook, though Nicky could see him trying not to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Ground was being held here, on both sides. “Er... so thinking for wardrobe we...”

Nicky glanced at Mark.

“Back in a second,” Mark said, and left the room.

  
  


*

  
  


It was a while before he came back. Nicky didn't follow him. There didn't seem any way to do that without incriminating himself, but eventually the toilet door upstairs opened and feet crossed above their heads. Soon after Mark was sat back at the table, face unreadable.

It stayed that way for most of the day. After the meeting in the kitchen they got things together, played through the setlist they'd figured out and then started to practice each song, over and over. There was no time to talk. The boys agreed to stay over again, though Michael had to pop out around five to go to his job at the convenience store and Graham went to get some more clothes from home.

Kian sat on the living room floor, watching TV.

“You don't need a change of clothes?” Nicky asked. Kian shook his head.

“Left some stuff here last time,” he yawned. “Don't mind sleeping in my boxers anyway.” He looked up at Nicky. “Look, I hope I didn't make things weird before. Just wasn't expecting you to come out with what you did.”

“It's fine.” Mark was curled up at the other end of the sofa pretending not to be interested, but Nicky knew he was listening. “It's not that I was hiding it. Just didn't see the point saying anything.”

“Well Mark knew, obviously.” Mark looked up in surprise. “You two are friends and stuff.”

“Don't really care,” Mark mumbled. Kian nodded.

“I don't care either, then,” he said firmly. Nicky smiled at him. He was growing to like this boy. “My mam's auntie's a lesbian, everyone reckons. Never got married and she's got like twelve cats and this best friend who's always over and coming to family things. We just let her get on with it.” He pursed his lips. “Should I say something to her, you reckon?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“You're the expert, though.” Kian pursed his lips. “You like... take it up the arse, though?” Nicky laughed in surprise. “That's what you lot do?”

“Er... sure some people do. I haven't though.” Kian was going slightly pink. Nicky hadn't thought him the type to get embarrassed but he supposed this was uncharted territory. “It's new. I was just straight and stuff, and then I fell for this boy. Still figuring things out.”

“That can happen?” Kian was looking nervous, now. “Because I'm close with Gray but we wouldn't, like...”

“Suppose there's nothing you can do about your feelings,” Nicky allowed. “It wrecked me for ages and then I figured I might as well give into it. If it's meant to be, it's meant to be. And it'd be pretty stupid of me to kick somebody over just because of like...” He gestured to his lap. “He makes me happy.”

“Oh. Cool.” The other boy licked his lips. “Yeah. Good for you.” He turned back to the television. “I don't fancy Gray.”

“Probably best not to snog him then,” Nicky joked. Kian laughed. Even Mark snorted. “Wrong idea.”

“Might be.”

Nicky glanced over at Mark while Kian was turned away.

Unreadable.

He chewed his lip and looked back at the TV.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Mark didn't slip into bed that night. Nicky waited. Eyes open and staring at the ceiling, but all he could hear were the squeak of bedsprings in the other room, the occasional clatter of the wind brushing leaves against his window.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because he woke to the sun streaming in

He found Mark and Graham downstairs, drinking coffee in front of morning cartoons.

“Hey,” Nicky croaked. They both nodded. “Pot still hot?”

It was. He cobbled together a mug then collapsed on the armchair. Rang his mam once it was a reasonable hour to let her know he'd be home for at least lunch. He couldn't stay here forever, and was finding he almost didn't want to. Mark was ignoring him. It was a cold stone that sat in his stomach every time they didn't look at each other.

Michael came back in at nine with a bag of almost-stale donuts he'd liberated from the convenience store. He looked wrecked after maybe five hours sleep, but it'd been more than Nicky had had, laid awake and wondering if he'd massively cocked up.

He left as they were tuning instruments. Was chewing the last of his donut as he wheeled his bike out into the street.

His family were happy to see him. His mam was just clearing the plates from that morning's breakfast. Asked how everything was going. He'd told her a little on the phone. His dad was playing Mark's CD on the little player in the kitchen.

“All well?”

“They'll be okay,” Nicky said. “I'll leave them to it a few days, let them get on with it.” They seemed to have things well enough in hand. He didn't see what he could add, sitting around listening to the same songs on repeat.

“We thought we'd take a drive,” his dad commented. “Only a few days left until we go. There's supposed to be craft markets on near Ballyshannon.”

It proved to be a good idea. The weather was clear, beautiful for a drive. His dad let him do the last leg after they stopped for fuel. Nicky was still a little nervous, especially with so many people in the car, but already he knew he loved the feeling of it. Of his hands on the wheel and the power humming beneath him, even in something as basic as the family Toyota his parents had had since before Adam had been born.

He managed an almost perfect parallel park on arrival, his dad nervously biting his lip in the passenger seat, obviously wanting to give instructions but holding himself back. Nicky pulled the handbrake.

“Good work.” Nicky couldn't help himself smiling.

“Getting the hang of it.”

“You'll be grand.” They were all climbing out. “You're sensible.” Nicky grimaced. He wasn't sure that he was, lately, but he appreciated the thought. “Everything alright?”

“Just a big couple of days,” he admitted. His mam was plastering sun cream on Adam's face while he patiently grumbled and tried to shrug out of his jacket. The sea was silver in the sunlight, gulls swooping and a line of surfers rocking idly on low swell, seeming to be there more for the banter than the waves, which were flutters at best.

He worried about Mark for a while. It was hard not to. A small penance he'd taken on as a hobby whenever his boyfriend wasn't about. It was a word that still sat odd, though Nicky supposed it was as good as any. Friend had always been the operative word but even then it hadn't felt enough when they'd been climbing trees together and sharing giggling secrets on the edge of the sea. Boy didn't feel right either, though Mark was. They both were. Man felt too much. Responsibility and a sense of direction Nicky didn't know he could carry yet. Too young and peering over the edge, neither of them quite ready to leap.

But still. When he thought of Mark it wasn't butterflies he felt any more. It was the future. That every step, though small and careful, was in service of something that might be more painful that he knew how to make into words. That maybe they were going to misstep and in a moment past and future would unravel and he'd be left stood still, wondering how to go on.

Mark had more to do. Nicky knew that already. Maybe neither of them were ready for this. Maybe he was just getting in Mark's way.

“Nicky?” He shook himself and looked down. Adam had fallen into step beside him.

“Mm?”

“You look sad.”

“Not sad,” Nicky murmured. “Just thinking.” He reached out a hand. His brother's folded into his, and he knew in a year's time he'd be getting rebuffed. Too old to hold hands with his stupid big brother. “A little bit sad, maybe,” he admitted. Adam didn't understand. That was well enough. “How are you? You looking forward to going back to school?”

His brother shrugged.

“Looking forward to seeing your friends again, more like?” That got a nod. “You going to try out for football this year?”

“Not sure.” Adam hesitated. “There's a performing arts thing some of my friends do.”

“That sounds fun.”

“Yeah. It's mostly girls though. Like all the boys make fun of them and stuff but like... Aisling's been showing me some of the stuff they do and it's like acting and dancing and everything.” He was looking slightly abashed. The others were up ahead, out of earshot. “It's supposed to be expensive. I don't want to ask mam if we can't afford it.”

“I'm sure we can,” Nicky said. “Anyway, footballs not cheap either.” He let go of Adam's hand to put an arm around his shoulders. “You find what makes you happy. If it turns out it's not for you, try something else. There's nothing wrong with starting again.”

“I guess.” Adam was looking a little more confident now. “Okay. Yeah. I'll ask mam.” He looked up at Nicky. “Nico?”

“Yeah?”

“Race you to the pier.” He was off and sprinting before Nicky could even blink, shirt flapping in the breeze. Gillian saw what was going on. Broke into a run after him while their parents laughed and stepped out of the way.

Nicky grinned and dashed after them.

  
  


*

  
  


Maybe Mark had been on his mind, but it was a relief, in the end, to spend the day with his family. Like they'd used to. A stroll and then some lunch, all of them arguing over small things and his dad making terrible jokes while Gillian smirked and Adam groaned and their mam kept offering everyone more sun cream.

He'd missed it. And maybe it was comforting as well. To know they could spend a day apart after the intensity of the past two weeks.

He bought Mark a gift at the markets before they headed back. A leather wallet, black with a treble clef branded into the front. He'd noticed Mark's own wallet was a velcro thing that was beginning to fall apart, so this felt useful as well.

“Going to visit Mark tonight?” his mam asked. It was getting on in the afternoon, Nicky supposed. “You can give him his wallet.”

“I'll see him tomorrow,” Nicky decided. “They'll probably be busy anyway.” He didn't really want to see Mark right now, he realised. Not when his sister was digging in the pile of boardgames and Mark had been so distant that morning. Maybe Nicky needed to give him time.

They played a savage round of Pictionary while his dad made dinner, and ate it around an equally competitive game of Cheat. He offered to do the dishes while everyone retired to the porch, and a few minutes later found himself alone in the kitchen, an odd sink of sadness trickling up his spine.

His hands were still a little damp as he dialled Mark's number.

It was answered on the third ring.

“Hey,” Nicky said, at the sleepy _h'lo?_ on the other end. “Thought I'd see how practice was coming.”

“Alright I think.” Mark sounded okay. “Everyone just left. I must've fallen asleep.” Nicky heard him yawn. “Mm. Left the place a tip, obviously.”

“Typical,” Nicky agreed. Mark laughed softly on the other end. “Want me to come round tomorrow and help you clean up?”

“Cool.” Nicky wasn't sure what to say next. “Um. Hey... sorry. If I was weird. I was a bit surprised when you came out telling them what you did and I guess I didn't...” He sighed. “So yeah.”

“I'm sorry. I should have spoken to you first.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” _You should have._ It went unsaid. “I don't really want to talk about it. That's your thing and I'm not... doing that.”

“Oh.” It stung. His thing. Of course.

“I'm gonna crash. Come round whenever.”

Nicky said goodbye. Mark hung up.

It was beginning to get dark as he stepped outside. A few stars here and there, a bright moon, hanging a crescent over the water.

“How's Mark?”

“He's Mark.” He ignored Gillian's knowing smirk. “Alright if I go visiting tomorrow?” His parents agreed that that was fine. “Hey... I'm sorry. If I'm always off. I don't mean it like...”

“You do what you need to do.” His dad reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “We've got you the rest of the year.” It didn't feel enough, somehow. The rest of the year was for getting on with things. Barely talking because he was always slouching to his room to study or headed out with mates.

There wasn't much to do about that, though, so instead Nicky sat down on the closest fold-out chair and spent time with his family while he had them.

  
  


*

  
  


Nicky found Mark in the shed, after futilely waiting at the door, trying to peer through the closed curtains. For a moment he thought perhaps Mark had gone out and forgotten, but as he curiously sidled around the corner to try the back door he realised he could hear music drifting from down the garden path.

The door was open. He peered in, saw Mark with his feet up and a turntable spinning on a nearby workbench, _Midnight Train to Georgia_ coming out of the small speakers.

“Hey,” Nicky said gently, trying not to scare him. Mark looked up from his notebook.

“Hey.” He shifted over on the dusty sofa. Nicky sank down beside him. The notebook disappeared, squirrelled into the cushions. Nicky didn't ask. “Gladys Knight,” Mark explained.

“Nice.” Nicky pecked his cheek. “I like this song.”

“Imagination album, 1973. It was their first one after leaving Motown. Was originally a country song called Midnight Plane to Houston by Jim Weatherly.”

“Of course you know that,” Nicky teased fondly. Mark shrugged. His cheeks were slightly pink, but he didn't look embarrassed. “Play me the rest of the album, then. You can tell me all about it.” He leaned back into Mark's side as an arm draped around his front. “Need a break from all the screaming?”

“Something like that.” A kiss dotted to his hair. “Everyone had church and stuff.”

“You didn't want to go?”

“Stopped going.” Nicky nodded. “Just felt weird, you know? We never went all that much anyway and I just felt... y'know. I kept thinking a hand was going to reach out and yank me into the confessional.” Nicky giggled at that, though he supposed it wasn't actually funny. Mark snorted. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

“More than once, I think,” Nicky teased.

“Yeah,” Mark murmured solemnly. Nicky reached back to squeeze his knee. “Well, five Hail Marys and some money in the collection plate.” He pulled Nicky in tighter. “You ever worry about it?”

“About what?”

“Going to Hell?”

“I don't know,” Nicky admitted. “They did the fire and brimstone at Sunday School when I was small and I had nightmares for a week. Like, I got so scared in case I was doing something bad and didn't even know about it. Mam gave the teacher the sharp side of her tongue after that.” Mark giggled. He'd caught the same side of Yvonne's tongue more than once himself. “Then she sat me down and said that Heaven and Hell's what you make for yourself. If you're angry and selfish all the time God won't notice that you have good table manners, and if you're kind and look for ways to help other people he won't mind that sometimes you're not perfect. Your soul's weighed by what you give.”

“How much does mine weigh?”

“The perfect amount,” Nicky promised. Mark snorted against his ear. “Your friends don't mind what I am, even though the church said it in a book somewhere, so how much can it matter?”

“That's you, though.”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is you're cool and interesting and from Dublin. I still have to go back to school and hope nobody says anything.”

“They're your friends. They wouldn't do that.”

“What if I'd said it last week when Derrick had still been in the band? You think he'd be nice about it now?”

“Fair point,” Nicky conceded. Mark sighed. “Okay. Yeah. I'm sorry I went blurting out like that.” Mark shrugged. “I got you something, actually.” He pulled away and bent to unzip the backpack he'd put down on the floor when he'd sat. “Here. Late birthday present.” Mark began to peel off the tissue paper it had come wrapped in.

“Oh...” His eyes brightened. “Thank you.” His thumb traced the design, then he flipped it open, laughing at the picture Nicky had stuck in the photo slot, the two of them maybe nine and ten, snuggled up fast asleep in a hammock with Nicky's mouth wide open and Mark's sunglasses askew on his face. “That's cute.”

“Turn it over.”

“Okay.” He dug it out, then flipped it. “To Mark, I've always liked sleeping with you. Yours, Nicky.” He laughed. “Brilliant.” Slipped it back into the slot. “This is really nice, Nick. Thank you.” A kiss pecked to his mouth. Then another. Gladys was having a grand time on the turntable but Nicky wasn't really listening. Not when Mark was deepening the kiss.

“I'll get you presents more often,” Nicky gasped, when it broke.

“Your birthday next,” Mark teased. The record had stopped, sometime. He stood up to change it. Carefully took it from the player and slid it back into the sleeve. “You want to choose something?”

“I trust you.” Mark nodded and began to look through the shelves, chewing his lip as he did. The corner of the notebook was poking up through the cushions. “Or you could sing me one of your songs.” He reached for it. Mark turned, snatched it away.

“Don't.”

“I was just kidding.” Nicky put his hands up in defence. Mark was holding the notebook close to his chest. “It's none of my business.” Worried eyes studied him carefully.

“They're shit.”

“If you say so.”

“I...” Mark was chewing his lip again. “Later, maybe. When they're ready.” He looked down at the book in his arms. “We should go inside, actually, start cleaning up. My folks get back tomorrow morning.”

  
  


*

  
  


  
  


“This is Nicky Byrne with your celebrity update. Today we're talking to Smash Hits Sexiest Man Mark Feehily, who's with us in his bedroom.” Mark squirmed under him, his laughter muffling into the pillow. Nicky was sat astride his back, making a path of kisses down a naked spine. “How does it feel knowing how devastatingly shaggable you are?”

“Well.” Mark shifted up slightly to peer over his shoulder while Nicky bit at his hips. “I have to say I was a bit surprised. I didn't even know I was nominated.”

“It must be exciting.”

“You could say that.” A breathy moan accompanied Nicky's nibble at the dimple in his lower back. He began to trace it with his tongue, then the other, a slow knot of tension that made Mark's hips undulate slowly against the sheets.

“Do you think it'll get in the way of people appreciating your music?”

“They don't really do that anyway.”

“With all thirty of your singles straight in at number one?” Nicky continued. “Eight Grammys, Fifteen MTV Awards. There's talk of you getting a Nobel Prize.”

“For what?”

“The Mark Feehily Award. New category.”

“Oh, right. Well, I suppose I'll have to take some time out of my career to focus on this brand new honour _fuck-_ ” His hips did a sudden, hard grind. “Mmn.”

“You like that?” Nicky had just scraped teeth down his tailbone. Wasn't sure what the plan was here but he was enjoying tasting everything he could. They'd made out thoroughly in the shower after the cleaning was done, had come back in here to get dressed until Nicky had realised he maybe was done yet. That maybe Mark wasn't either, judging from the look he'd been getting.

“Yes,” Mark breathed. “Feels weird.”

“Good weird?”

“Like...” He rubbed his face into his bent arm, and Nicky knew he was hiding his embarrassment. “Feels like there's a cord. That goes right under and up...” His hips rolled again when Nicky trailed a finger down the bone and into the soft flesh of his crack. A little damp still. “Oh please.”

“Please what?”

“I don't know.” When Nicky looked up his eyes were screwed tight into the pillow, chin down. “Just... more.” Nicky stroked him again, using the edge of his nail this time. Mark whimpered into the pillow. Nicky crawled up. Draped half across him and catching him in a kiss while his hand kept up a teasing stroke at the top of Mark's arse-crack. Not going down, or even getting close, but teasing a small crease of skin that made his boyfriend moan into his mouth.

“Like that?”

“Yes,” Mark breathed. “Nick.” His eyes were glazed, hips moving erratically.

“Sexy,” Nicky muttered. Slow desperation that panted against his lips as he kept up the rhythm. “So sexy, babe.” Mark whined. “You gonna come like that? Is that...” Another gulping kiss. He slipped away again. Down Mark's spine and back to where he'd been before, tongue slipping into him. Hands spreading him open. He could see Mark's hole. See it tensing as he looked at it.

He ducked back in. Laved a thick stripe from Mark's balls to his tailbone. Heard a sob. The stiffening that said Mark wasn't sure but was too turned on to mind. Made the same path. Slower this time. Clean, a little soapy. Hair that flattened beneath his tongue.

“Keep going?” he asked. Mark was staring wide-eyed over his shoulder.

“Yes.” Almost silent. Mark was red. “You don't have to.”

“Fuck off,” Nicky laughed.

He took it slow while he figured out what he was doing. Small circles with his tongue, exploring this new part of Mark he hadn't entirely expected to become acquainted with. He knew what gay lads were supposed to do of course. Had struggled to think of Mark like that. And he didn't think he wanted to take it that way either but this was gorgeous. Not because of where he was but because he could hear Mark falling apart.

He hit a bit that made Mark cry out and grab the pillow. Focused his attention there, hard circles with his tongue and his fingers massaging over it in between. Just behind his balls. Hot skin that tensed when he scraped his teeth.

“Ah...”

“Christ,” Nicky mumbled. Didn't stop. Mark's toes were curling on the sheets. His hand was under, moving fast. Nicky could see in the whisper of space where he'd lifted himself on his knees to open himself further.

“Uh uh uh uh...” Mark sobbed suddenly, let out another breathy cry. Nicky pressed down, slipped his tongue between his forked fingers to tease. Felt the tremor of him.

He came with an absurd squeal. Something momentarily high-pitched that disappeared into a frequency Nicky couldn't hear. He was writhing. Nicky couldn't stop giggling. Even while Mark spilled into the sheets and his legs seized so hard he almost kicked Nicky in the head.

“You okay?” Nicky asked. He'd climbed up. Mark was still laid on his face, gasping into the pillow. “Do you need an ambulance?”

“M'good.” A shaky thumbs up settled on the pillow. Nicky kissed the tip of it. “S'good now.”

“I see that,” Nicky chuckled. He could see the hint of a grin. One eye was peering dazedly up at him. “Roll over.” He nudged Mark onto his side, away from the sticky patch. Lay down to snuggle into him. Arms wrapped around him, the smell of Mark in every hot breath and Nicky realised the boy was luxuriating in him. Rubbing up against his back, stroking hands all over him. Sloppy kisses draped across his shoulders.

He closed his eyes as a hand slithered down his front.

  
  


 


	14. Chapter 14

“It's like a secret world,” Nicky whispered. Mark was behind him. The lake was dark. A foggy ripple. The trees behind them penned them in, a small space capsule with nothing to do but drift.

And they were together.

“Maybe there's fairies,” Mark suggested. Nicky snorted. The woods were alive around them. The white noise of frogs and insects, the occasional rustle above them in the trees. “Hold my hand. They won't get us.”

“Thanks.” Nicky caught it. Even if anyone came there'd be plenty of warning before they were seen. Nicky could barely see a foot in front of them.

“I'm going to miss you.”

“It'll be different next year,” Nicky promised. “You'll have school finished and we can figure it out. I'll get a job and find a flat and you can do university in Dublin. It'll be like this summer, but all our own.” He smiled at the thought. “You and me.”

“We'll see.”

“You don't want to?”

“I don't know what's going to happen next week,” Mark reasoned. “This band thing could take off. Or maybe I don't do well and have to repeat my leaving cert. I'm going to miss you, Nick. That's all I can do for now.” Nicky slumped back against him, not sure it hurt so badly. Probably because it was the truth. “We made it this far. It's not like we'll never see each other again.”

“Yeah,” Nicky sighed. “I'm still coming to your concert, right?” Mark pecked a kiss to his neck that shifted when he nodded. “I like it here.”

“I come here when I'm sad,” Mark said. “It makes everything quiet.”

“Sorry, I'll shut up.”

“No. It's nice to have someone to be sad with.” Both their hands were interwined now, crossed over Nicky's front and pulling them together. Mark took a deep breath. “I think it's better if we don't see each other after my parents get back. I've decided not to tell them yet.”

“You don't want to say goodbye?”

“I never do.” Nicky felt tears prick at him. “I love you. So much.” Nicky sobbed. Tonight was goodbye, he realised. “I had a really good summer.”

“Me too.” He closed his eyes. Felt tears spill out anyway.

“Don't cry.”

“You said we were allowed to be sad here.”

“We are.” The kiss they shared was awkward, over Nicky's shoulder, but perfect regardless. “You know what I like to do when I'm missing you?” Nicky shook his head. “I play this game. Where I think of something only you know about me.”

“Like what?”

“Like...” Mark hmmed thoughtfully. “Like that I once threw up in a plastic plant in the principal's office.” Nicky laughed. “Or that I believed in vampires until I was ten.”

“They're definitely real.” Leaned back into him. “You're the only person who knows I took a packet of Revels from the corner shop.”

“Then you got paranoid, bought another packet at the supermarket, and replaced them two weeks later,” Mark laughed. “Eejit.”

“Yeah,” Nicky sighed. He'd told that story a few years back, when the guilt had been almost strangling him. Mark had laughed himself stupid. “You know I love you.”

“I know.” Mark held him close. “That one's my favourite.”

  
  


*

  
  


They walked back to Mark's house together, eventually. It was late. Almost morning. Nicky felt fraught. A spun-glass fatigue that urged him to close his eyes against the first whispers of sunlight. The fields looked almost purple, the trees grey blots painted onto the horizon. Mark's hand was in his.

“I love you,” Nicky murmured. Mark nodded into his shoulder. Clinched tight around each other in the dim living room. Nicky was afraid to let go. “I'm sorry we left it this long.”

“Me too.” A rough stroke almost took a fistful of hair from the back of his head. Mark was breathing him in. “Don't cry.” Nicky shook his head, clung to him tighter. “Don't cry or it'll be worse.” Nicky couldn't help it. Was choking hoarse sobs back, his chest a stretched drum.

Mark just held him, while the sun came up.

  
  


*

  
  


“All packed?”

“Think so.” Nicky had just slid his suitcase into the back of the car, knew he'd be doing mountains of laundry when they got back home. Gillian's was already there. His dad was upstairs helping Adam find his last few things. “Nice day today.”

“Shame we didn't have weather like this the whole trip.” Soft warmth, a cradling breeze. His mam's skirt was flapping slightly and she put a hand up to hold her hat on. “Is Mark coming to say goodbye?”

“We already said it.” His mam nodded. “Hey... thanks. For the last few weeks. I know it was all a bit...” He sighed. “Some people might have freaked out, but you were really cool about everything. I'm grateful you're my family.”

“Oh, love.” She put her free arm around his shoulders, the other hand still holding her hat. “You've always been our miracle. Who you love wouldn't change that.” Nicky nodded, too emotional to get out the words. “Anyone you end up with would be lucky to have you.”

“What if it's Mark?”

“If it's him, then we're lucky as well. At least we've already met his parents.” Nicky managed a tearful laugh in reply. “If it's another boy or girl then that's fine too.” She kissed his cheek. His dad was just locking the front door with the keys they'd drop off at the rental place on the way out of town. Gillian was helping Adam with his bag.

Nicky was just climbing into the car when he heard the unmistakeable chime of a bell from the hill behind the cottage. Looked up.

He lifted a hand in a wave.

Mark waved back, other hand steadying his bike, and didn't stop until Nicky was out of sight.

  
  


*

  
  


“Good holiday?”

“Oh... yeah. It was grand.” He smiled. Georgina was stood beside the cafeteria table, a tray cradled in her hands. “Sit down if you want. I'm not really studying.”

“Cheers,” she laughed. “I won't tell anyone. Heard you on the radio last night.”

“They're letting me on weather _and_ traffic now,” he teased. She laughed. “How about you? Good holiday?”

“Paris with my parents.”

“Ooh, get you.” She laughed and tossed a balled up napkin at him. He tossed it back. He'd been surprised when he'd gotten here and found her in his advanced Geography module. They'd been in primary together, had drifted apart when she'd been sent to the girl's secondary and he'd gone on to the local highschool. At least it meant a friendly face to have lunch with now that all his friends had gone onto university.

He'd been lonely when first he'd been back. Really lonely. But college had finally started and at least he had some direction. It was better than sitting around the house missing Mark.

“Nicky?”

“Sorry.” He'd drifted off, he realised. “Er...”

“I was asking if you wanted some chips?”

“Oh... yeah. Thanks.” He pinched two from the bowl. “I'm on tonight. Any song requests? I'll dedicate something to ya.”

“I have a boyfriend, you know.”

“I'll tell you in code,” Nicky teased. “Not for you. It's for er... George. Nice fella, George. Let me have some of his chips.” She giggled. “I'm seeing someone myself, actually.” She raised an eyebrow. “Like... no agenda, just so you don't think I'm actually trying it on or whatever.”

“Thanks for the clarity,” she said sarcastically. Nicky winked and began to scoop his books back into his bag. “Alright. Play me something by Oasis then.”

“Done.” He picked up his bag. “Hey, speaking of, there's this festival in a couple months. My friend's playing there. I can get tickets if you want some?”

“They any good?”

“The best.” He grinned. “I'll see you round, though.” He grabbed a couple more chips. “You should come. Bring your fella or whoever. It'll be a laugh.” She shrugged. “For me?”

“For you,” she chuckled. He winked and bid her goodbye.

The radio station was quiet when arrived. Usually was, this time of day. Bryan was in the booth, talking a mile a minute for the mid-afternoon show. Nicky put his things away and got to work. There was post to go through and the station manager had a list of errands that needed doing. Ten minutes later he was carrying out a tray of coffee mugs.

“Cheers.” Alan took his. “You get those reports?”

“You bet.” He untucked them from under his arm. “Hey... you mind if I do a request for tonight? A friend asked for some Oasis.”

“Fine.” Alan took a sip of his coffee. “Bryan's leaving early for an exam so we're going to pad with music. Couldn't get Ryan to come in at short notice.”

“I can cover.” Alan raised an eyebrow. “I can. I'll do the weather and traffic and stuff and then I'll just do whatever Bryan was going to.” His manager was looking at him thoughtfully. “Please. It's only for half an hour. If I cock it up Megs can cut me and throw to adverts.”

“You know how everything works?”

“Yes sir.” He'd studied it every time he'd been lucky enough to be in there. Watched the other DJs and which buttons did what. “Please.”

And so, ten minutes later, Nicky was sidling into the booth.

“Thanks, Nico.” Bryan was hurriedly hefting his backpack. “Class lad.” He sprinted out the door.

Then Nicky was left alone, slipping on the headphones.

The producer gave him a thumbs up. He returned it nervously. Waited while the song finished and the _On Air_ sign above the door blinked red.

He gulped.

“Hiya, this is Nicky Byrne with weather and traffic...”

  
  


*

  
  


“Not bad, lad.” Alan was waiting outside the booth for him. Nicky was fairly certain he was going to throw up. Butterflies were starting a tornado in his stomach. His ears were sweaty where the headphones had been on.

He felt amazing.

“Thank you sir,” Nicky managed breathlessly. He couldn't keep the grin off his face. He'd taken two callers without incident, timed up all the adverts correctly, and managed not to swear on live radio.

“Penny's taking a week soon for her sister's wedding. You wouldn't be interested in covering her, would you?” Nicky's mouth dropped open. “Not the best shift, three in the morning, but could offer you a trial.”

“I'd... yes! I'd love to!” It was a bad idea to hug his boss. He held himself back. “Anything you need. I'll do my regular shift as well if you want. I don't...”

“I'll put someone else on the afternoon,” Alan chuckled. “Pop by tomorrow morning at two-thirty and she'll show you the ropes.” Nicky nodded furiously. “You alright?”

“Might need to sit down,” Nicky admitted. Alan laughed. “Um. Okay. Cool. Do you need another coffee? I can...”

“Same again.” A hand stuck out. Nicky shook it hard. “Go on. Still got work to do.” Nicky backed away, still shaking. “Let go.”

“Yeah.” He released his grip. “Coffee.”

“Coffee,” Alan agreed. “Off you go.”

  
  


*

  
  


“How's practice going?”

“It's going,” Mark sighed. “Kian and Miggles had a strop yesterday, but they seem to have patched it. I just stay out of it.” Nicky hummed sympathetically. “We added a new song.”

“I can't wait to hear it.”

“Yeah. Um.” There was a breathy pause. “I wrote it, actually. Or like, I showed it to Kian and he really liked it so we worked out an arrangement and stuff.”

“Mark!” Nicky exclaimed. “That's fantastic! I'm so proud of you!” His boyfriend was laughing shyly on the other end. “I knew you were hiding something genius.”

“Don't know about that. Just... I was doing some writing once you left and it kinda all poured out and I couldn't get it out of my head, like. He caught me humming it and asked what it was.”

“It's about me?”

“Yeah. Or... us, basically. I shouldn't have told you.” Nicky could feel the blush through the phone. “You can just hear it if you don't like it you can pretend you do or dump me or whatever.”

“Stop that,” Nicky scolded. “I'll love it. I love you.” Unsure grunt against his ear. “I adore you,” he whispered. Realised he was getting emotional. “Can't wait to see you. God knows what I'll do to you.”

“Tell me about it.” Breathy. Nicky closed his eyes. “No, seriously, tell me about it. Everyone's in bed.”

“I can't. I've got to go to work.” It was just after midnight. Mark moaned in frustration on the other end. “Jesus, baby.” His hand was moving without thinking. He stilled it. “Don't you have school in the morning?”

“So?”

“So you should be in bed,” Nicky said firmly. Mark snorted.

“I am in bed.”

“Asleep.”

“Okay dad,” he teased. Nicky couldn't help laughing. “I can't wait to see you.”

“Only a month,” Nicky sighed. Mark grumbled on the other end. “Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“When I see you I'm going to rip your jeans off and shove your cock down my throat.” A sudden, strangled whimper on the other end. “Night!”

“You fu-” Nicky slammed the phone down before Mark could finish swearing at him, hand over his mouth to stop his laughter waking up the whole house. They'd gotten up early that morning to support his first solo shift but everyone had lives and this time he'd gotten dressed in his room and tiptoed down the stairs to wait by the phone for Mark's call.

They'd kept in touch as much as they could. Nicky had been worried they'd drift apart but even three or four calls a week was enough to remind him of how much he adored his best friend. He was considering getting a mobile phone to keep in better contact. There were some cheap second-hand ones at the local pawnshop he'd been eyeing off. He just needed a little more money. Was picking up some cash mowing lawns, about the only job he had time for between the radio and his school, but it was something to sock away. His birthday was coming up too.

He listened to Mark's CD on the way in. His parents were letting him take the car for the week as long as it was back for them to go to work, especially with buses so patchy at this time of night. Found himself grinning as he turned into the station parking lot and maybe stayed there a little longer while he waited for the song to finish.

A coffee and a stale donut later and he was waiting for Kevin to finish up his shift.

“Morning, Nicky.”

“Hey Liv,” he yawned. She looked tired too. Would be on for another two shows after his. He didn't know when she had the time to sleep. “Plan for tonight?”

“Liam's out covering the student protest. Accomodation fees,” she added, when Nicky went to ask. “Paid plug for the new burger place off-campus as well.” He nodded. There'd been a good line that afternoon for lunch, just across the road. He hadn't had a chance to try them yet but a couple of the lads in his class had been talking about how good the food was. “That Unsigned festival thing's coming up too. They want us to push tickets.”

“The one in Kilkenny?” She nodded. “My friend's playing at that.”

“Any good?”

“Yeah, actually.” He hesitated. “I could grab the CD out of my car. Play a song or something. Preview of what's at the gig or whatever.” His heart was beating fast while she mulled it over. “You can listen to it first if you want. It's clean and everything.”

She glanced at her watch.

“Five minutes.”

Nicky dashed for the door.

 


	15. Chapter 15

“And that was Freddie and the Life, your most requested song of the week!” Nicky announced. The CD case sat beside him on the desk. “How about we go to break and we can hear another one off the album?” Liv was laughing through the glass. They'd been getting calls for it for the last few days. Nicky couldn't believe it. He'd been hoping someone might like it, but the phones had been ringing since that first play. Bryan had even asked for a copy to play on the mid-afternoon, and it had gotten at least a few spins on the late night chart show.

The wheels squeaked as he pushed away from the desk. A carpet cleaning jingle rang through the speakers.

Liv poked her head in.

“Phone call for you.”

“What line?”

“No,” she laughed. “Actually for you.” She was holding the cordless. “I said I'd take a message but he insisted.” Nicky made sure he was off air, then took it, lifted it to his ear.

“This is Nicky.”

“Hello Nicky, this is Louis Walsh.” Nicky's jaw dropped. Johnny Logan's manager. He'd seen the man on the telly.

“Fuck off, who is this really?”

“My name's Louis Walsh.” He spoke fast, in a clipped, almost musical Mayo accent. “You're the lad on the radio, aren't you?” Nicky didn't know what to say. “I'm...”

“You manage _Boyzone_ ,” Nicky blurted. There was a laugh on the other end.

“Aye I do,” he chuckled. “On my way to the airport and I happened to end up on your station. What's that song you were playing?”

“Oh, it's...” His voice was shaking. “Um. New Irish band. They're doing the Unsigned festival at Kilkenny in a few weeks. Freddie and the Life.”

“Shite name. Good vocals, though.” He hmmed. “You're playing another track are ye?” Nicky nodded numbly, then remembered Louis couldn't see him.

“Yeah. Got the album here. They're um. They're class lads.”

“Grand. Tell ya what, I'll see how I like it and might get my secretary to call you at home. Do you have a mobile?”

“No. Just... I live with my mam and dad,” he said stupidly. “What's Ronan Keating like?” he blurted. Louis snorted. “Sorry. Er. My number.” He rattled it off quickly, then again when he realised he'd gone too fast. “Can give you their guitarist's number as well if you like. He writes all the songs and whatever.”

“Sort it out with my secretary. She'll call you after nine.” The adverts were finishing. Liv was counting him back in, looking nervous. “Nice speaking to you, Nicky Byrne. Keep up the good work.”

“Yeah. Thanks. You... too.” The man hung up with a laugh. Nicky stared at the handset in shock.

“Nicky,” Liv hissed. Nicky shook himself.

“Er... so we're back again,” he managed. “Got a very special call-in asking for some more of your most requested artist of the week. This is Freddie and the Life, with...”

  
  


*

  
  


“You're not serious?” Kian was breathless. They were all together on speaker, sounded like they were caught in a wave of static, but it was definitely them. “It was some eejit pulling your leg...”

“It was Louis Walsh, I swear to you!” Nicky cackled helplessly. He'd gotten the call that morning. Been told a pre-paid envelope was on it's way if he could send over a copy of the CD.

“Holy fuck,” Graham was whispering. “Holy fuck, holy fuck.” Michael was giggling.

“I need another copy of the CD.”

“You have one.”

“I have Skrod's album,” he reminded them. Kian swore loudly.

“We don't have new artwork done.”

“Fuck,” Nicky muttered. “Fuck.” His eyes fell on the roll of leftover posters sticking out of his backpack. “I'll figure something out,” he decided. “In the meantime, it's my last shift tonight. What if I interview one of you on air?” There was a panicked silence.

“Kian can do it,” Mark said finally. There was a murmur of agreement. “You're in charge,” he added. “And you won't sound like an eejit.” Nicky snorted. Mark was right. Kian was the most confident, and Mark sounded like a deer in headlights at the best of times. “Kian's going to do it,” he repeated firmly.

“Kian?”

“I... yeah. I guess I can.” He giggled, high and terrified. “Holy fuck, Nicky.”

“You can be up by three-thirty?”

“I don't think I'll get to sleep in the first place. Oh fuck.” The other lads were laughing, excited. “Thanks. Thank you. I don't...”

Nicky hung up five minutes later, knew they were off to celebrate judging by the whooping he could hear. He wished he could be with them. Bouncing around Kian's living room like eejits, probably, hugging each other. He wished he could see Mark's face. Blushing, scared excitement. Those wide eyes that wouldn't quite believe it.

He grabbed a poster and went to find scissors and tape.

  
  


*

  
  


“I'm sorry to tell ya this is my last shift,” Nicky said. There was a pre-recorded boo in his ears, and when he looked round Liv was tapping keys and giving him a cheeky grin. “But I've got a special treat for ya. You asked for them, we gave them to ya, and now we're doing one better.”

He glanced at the CD case beside him. He'd done an alright job, he thought. Had pulled off the outer cover, cut the poster carefully up, then photocopied it in the school library and reattached it as best he could. Not professional but they were an unsigned band with not much money and it hadn't been great shakes to start with.

“Got one quarter of Freddie and the Life on the line, all the way from Sligo to talk about their appearance at Unsigned. But first, here's a taste of what you'll get at the concert.”

He hit play. Picked up the phone. It rang once.

“Hey. Am I on radio?”

“Not yet,” Nicky laughed. “Two minutes.”

“I'm bricking it,” Kian admitted. “What do I say?”

“Just answer the questions.” The others were there. He could hear whispers, and Mark had said they were all going round to Kian's place for support. They'd spoken that afternoon when Nicky had woken. He was looking forward to getting back on a regular sleeping cycle after this.

Mark had wished him a happy birthday for next week, said the card was in the post. It felt surreal.

They chatted a little longer. Kian sounded calmer. Then Nicky announced they were about to go to air and heard a panicked moan.

It went well. Nicky had been a little worried, but once Kian got the rhythm of it he was the same Kian Nicky had met those months ago in Sligo. In charge, every inch the ambitious, determined young man who was desperately writing his own future. Afterwards a girl rung up and asked if she could have the lad with the sexy voice's number.

Nicky told her if she wanted it, she'd have to ask in person at the gig. She squealed and said she already had tickets, that all her friends were going as well. He said he'd see her there.

“It was good working with you.”

“You too.” He shook Liv's hand. The breakfast radio crew were just setting up. “If you need anyone to fill shifts, you can call me. I'm always around.”

“I'll take you up on it.” He tried not to look too proud, but inside he was swelling. She gave him a knowing smile. “Let me know if you ever need a reference.”

He promised he would. Practically skipped across the carpark.

The coffee pot had just finished boiling, judging by the smell. Nicky resisted the temptation. He needed to sleep. Didn't think he knew how. He could hear his brother slumping around upstairs, getting ready for school.

“Kian sounded good,” his dad said. His parents were sat at the kitchen table, the little portable radio between them. Both looked sleepy.

“You listened?”

“Your last show. For now, anyway.” Nicky bit his lip to stop himself crying.

“Proud of you, love.” He fell into his mam's arms. Realised she was getting emotional too. “You sounded wonderful.” She pulled back a little to study him. “Head up to bed, alright? We're off to work soon.”

“Not tired,” he yawned. His dad laughed.

“Go on.” He kissed Nicky's hair. “You deserve it.”

  
  


*

  
  


He woke to a small bundle of post on the floor near the front door. A number of envelopes, probably bills, that he put on the kitchen table for his parents to go through, a supermarket catalogue he kept in case there were coupons. Two envelopes addressed to him.

Mark's handwriting. He opened it with nervous fingers. Saw the edge of a hand-drawn picture and giggled when he realised it was one of Mark's weird doodles, two peas in a pod, one with huge lips and eyes, one with the face of a tiger and floppy blonde hair.

_You make me hap-pea._

“Eejit,” Nicky murmured fondly. He opened it. A small photo taped inside, the two of them shadows in the setting sun, Mark with Nicky's old football under his arm.

 _I miss playing with your balls_ , it said on the back. Nicky giggled. That was definitely going in his wallet. He looked around for it, then remembered he was still holding post.

He peeled off the envelope, found another one inside, addressed to Louis Walsh Management.

He grabbed his wallet and shoved the photo in it while he ran up the stairs to find clothes.

  
  


*

  
  


“You sent it?”

“Dropped it off in person,” Nicky promised. It hadn't been that far away and it was easier than trusting the post. He'd handed it to the secretary at Louis' front desk, had been told that Louis himself was out on business, but it would certainly be passed on. “Loved your birthday card, by the way.”

“What birthday card?”

“Ha.” Mark snorted.

“Two weeks,” he breathed. Nicky sighed in agreement.

“Where are you staying?”

“Probably in the van. Kian's borrowing it from his dad.”

“Is that safe?”

“It's cheap,” Mark pointed out. “It's just for a night. We might not even sleep anyway, depending on how late it goes. Seemed silly booking a motel we won't be in.”

“Suppose so.” That wasn't ideal. He'd had visions of pinning Mark to a mattress and shagging the life out of him. Maybe he could book a room and they could sneak off, though he almost had enough for the mobile and didn't want to go wasting it.

“Nick?”

“Mm?”

“You um...” Nervous breath. “You still want to be with me, right?”

“Of course I do! Why would you even ask?”

“Dunno. Just... it's been a while. I just. I mean, I hoped.”

“Oh, babe.” Nicky needed to hold him badly. “Every fucking day for the rest of my life.” He heard a sigh of relief. “Whatever you need.”

“What if I can't ever tell anyone about us?” His voice sounded impossibly small. “What if...”

“Then we deal with it,” Nicky promised. “You're worth it.”

“Really?”

“Are you not? My mistake.”

“Nicky!” Mark scolded. Nicky giggled. “Prick.” More annoyed now tham self-conscious. Nicky loved him for it. “I'm thinking about you. How I'd take your clothes off. Bite your nipples the way drives you mad.” Nicky groaned. “Then I'd wank you off. Let you come all over my...” He trailed off. Nicky shifted, frustrated.

“Come all over where?” he urged. Mark hummed cheekily.

“Love you, bye!” There was a thunk. Nicky swore. Knew Mark would be laughing his arse off on the other end.

“Cheeky fucker,” he muttered. He looked at pile of books he was meant to be taking notes from. Adjusted himself. Sighed.

Maybe a shower first.

  
  


*

  
  


“Got everything?”

“It's just Kilkenny,” Nicky laughed. “Train shouldn't be two hours.” He was only taking a backpack. No point lugging everything half across the country.

“I want to go.”

“Not this time.” His brother was pouting. “I'll take you to the next one. You can walk me out, though.” Adam slumped off his chair. Nicky shoved his phone in his pocket. His parents had given him the rest of the money for his birthday and he was grateful, couldn't wait to show Mark that they could keep in touch all the time now. He shrugged on the jacket Gillian had bought him. “We'll do something fun next weekend.”

“Okay,” he sulked.

“We'll go to the chipper for dinner,” his dad whispered. That seemed to brighten things up a bit. “Travel safe.”

The train was surprisingly busy. Festival-goers, he realised. Lots of neon hair, short skirts and odd piercings. He ended up squashed between a girl with long dreadlocks and a boy stood in the aisle who looked like he'd started the party early, judging by the way he was jittering.

“Nicky?”

“Georgina! Hey!” Stood in the aisle a few rows ahead. She waved excitedly. “Going to the festival?”

“Both nights!” There was a folded-up tent strapped to the side of her pack. “You?”

“Just tonight.”

“That's right! Your friend!” She grinned. “I love their stuff! Jess taped a few off the radio and we've been playing them at parties. People go mad!” Nicky blinked in surprise. “Got a few girls who wouldn't mind introductions to the one you had on the radio.”

“Sure Kian'd like that.” He probably would too, girls fawning over him. “Wait, I'm coming to you.” He sidled out of his seat, which was taken immediately by the jittery boy. Dreadlocks girl shot him a dirty look. “Scuse me,” he apologised. “Sorry. Scuse me.” Georgina hugged him when he finally made it. “Mind if I hang out with you, then?”

“Course not. We're meeting people there. Jess, Nicky.”

“Hiya.”

He was glad for the company, though when they stepped off the train they almost lost each other in the crowd. He could see the thing already. Gates and fences set up, queues of people streaming through corridors in the barricades. Lads in hi-vis were directing the traffic. And when they got closer and crested the hill, Nicky could see the stage at the bottom, settled into the natural amphitheatre of the landscape.

“Whoa.” Bigger than he'd expected. They got wristbands, then he headed for the campsite with the girls, at a loss for what to do otherwise. It was the next field over. He could smell sun cream and cooking sausages, see tents everywhere, like confused bubblewrap.

He'd be bricking it, if it was him. He hoped Mark was okay.

Kian was in his contacts. He flicked through and pressed auto-dial.

“Hello?” Kian shouted.

“Hey, I'm here.” He could hear the noise of people in the background, almost drowning him out. “Where are you?”

“Fucked if I know! In a tent or something? We're getting wristbands.” Nicky scanned the horizon. “Yeah I _know_ Graham. Your drumsticks are with the kit. For fuck's...” He could hear Mark wailing in the background. “Freddie! Shut _up_. Nicky, I have to...”

“I'll find you later,” Nicky promised. “Break a leg.”

“I'll fucking break somebody's legs if they don't...” The call cut out. He realised they'd arrived at the site, that Georgina and her friends were hugging a larger group of people that seemed to have been here at least a while longer if the mud on their tent was anything to go by. It had rained the night before. He hoped it wouldn't again.

“I'm going to have a look around.” Georgina told him to come back for dinner if he wanted. He thanked her and wandered off. It was huge. He'd been to concerts before, but not something like this. Where the very earth seemed to be forcing up a huge, heaving mass of stalls and people. The stage loomed as he got closer. Speakers a storey high. The first band was coming out and people were beginning to press forward, an immense concertina of bodies with no end, more pressing from the back to fill the space. He struggled out at the first clatter of drums.

It was easier up the back. He couldn't see, really, just the lights and the mosaic of dancing people. The band wasn't bad. Sort of funk dance, kind of a seventies electro vibe. The sort of music Mark would like, probably. He wondered if they could hear it, wherever they were, though he suspected the whole county could hear it.

There were lines of buses on the other side of the train-tracks, the bridge a constant, moving flurry of people. Cars were honking, caught in gridlock, and in between it all he saw a familiar Subaru.

He was descending the slope to the drop-off point as they climbed out. Two familiar teenagers, both lugging backpacks.

“Shane?”

“Nicky! Hey!” They both waved. “Wondered if we'd see you.” They both hugged him. “Seen the lads yet?”

“In this mess?” He rolled his eyes. “Didn't know you were coming.”

“Miss Kian's big moment? Course not. My brother's parking the car. We said we'd find a campsite and set up.” Nicky nodded. Apparently everyone had thought ahead but him. “Where you staying tonight?”

“Thought I'd get the train back.”

“Course not. Kip in with us.” He readjusted the heavy backpack. “Come on.”

They ended up not too far from Georgina's tent, in the end. Nicky introduced everyone, then helped with setup. It was barely a tent. More a few tarps fashioned into a lean-to with some sleeping bags underneath. Everything they didn't need went back to the car, which was parked somewhere Finbar said definitely wasn't illegal and only half an hour's walk away. Nicky helped them carry everything, glad for somewhere to put his backpack. Shane slapped him on the back.

“Excited?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. Still quite a few hours away. The lads wouldn't be on until after dark. They all jumped at a ring, felt for their pockets, though it turned out to be Gillian. She spoke briefly, then hung up.

“They're getting food. Said to meet them at the flags.” Nicky had seen them, a cluster of masts with coloured flags showing the way to the portaloos. He didn't relish having to use them himself.

It was getting warm when they climbed the hill again, the sun high. Nicky's thighs ached. He could see the flags, fluttering in the breeze, the impenetrable press of people. He forced in, looked around, stomach a knot. Realised he'd lost Shane and Gillian as well, in his eagerness to find...

A hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned.

“Hey,” Mark said. Nicky swallowed.

“Hey.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

“Said I'd always find you.”

“You did.” He looked beautiful. Different all over again. Stubble on his cheeks and his hair grown just enough to notice. “This is a dream?”

“I keep thinking it must be.” He looked nervous. “You think anyone'd notice if I just ran away?”

“Probably.” He let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. “Jesus fucking Christ I'm so proud of you.” He could see the others now the crowd had shifted. Graham and Michael were waving from the queue for hotdogs. Kian was hugging Shane and Gillian nearby.

“I'm not hungry.” Mark's voice was low. His hand brushed Nicky's. “But I think I left something in the van.”

  
  


*

  
  


“Fuck yes fuck yes,” Mark breathed. Nicky arched. Devouring him. Not the most comfortable of places, in the back of dirty van with a bit of carpet on the rusty floor, but Nicky didn't care. His boyfriend was grinding against his thigh through his boxers, kissing the life out of him, and if it was a bit oily in here and smelled of old shoes then that was perfectly acceptable. “Can't shower before the gig.”

“Fuck,” Nicky groaned. Rolled them over and began to peel Mark out of his clothes. “I'll fucking lick you clean if I have to.” Mark was laughing through the shirt Nicky was lifting over his head. “Just...” He let go, not able to wait, and yanked down Mark's boxers, licked roughly up the glistening length of him. Heard a moan. Echoed it with one of his own and when he took Mark in again and looked up the shirt was gone and he was being watched with wide, hungry eyes.

“Nick.” Mark gulped. Nicky blew against him, making him shudder, then took him in again. “Oh fuck.” His head tipped back. “S'been too long,” he groaned. Nicky knew what he meant. Things were getting desperate in his department too.

“We've got ages,” Nicky promised. Mark whined and lifted his hips again. Then he laughed.

“You did say you were going to shove my...” Nicky snorted laughter.

“You never did tell me where I was going to come.”

“On my face,” Mark murmured. He looked shy but too turned on to care. Nicky sank down again. Started a slow, teasing rhythm. “Oh... Nicky. On my... on my back.” Nicky whimpered. “Thought about...” His hips jerked. Nicky caught the movement before it could choke him, put a hand on his thigh to steady things. “Like when you... when you licked me there the last time. You could come there. All over my arse. I want...” His breath hitched. Nicky closed his eyes to hold himself in check. Too hot, that unsure mouth making filthy requests.

It wasn't too long until Nicky felt him tremble, heard a soft cry. He swallowed. Crawled back up to pin Mark into a scorching kiss, both of them breathless. Hands landed on his arse. Ground them together while Nicky tried to catch his breath.

“You can't tell me that and think I'll keep you clean,” he growled. Mark rolled them. Wrapped a hand around him and started a hard pump that made Nicky turn his head away in agony. Mark caught him. Pulled him back with his mouth. Nicky whined. Clumsy, devouring kisses.

“Love you,” Mark mumbled against him, their foreheads pressed together. “Love you. Fuck. Missed...” Nicky shivered. Felt a warning pulse of intensity. Teeth caught his bottom lip. Mark was hard again, he knew already. Knew it from the rub of him against Nicky's thigh.

He clung to Mark while he came. Clung to Mark after, not able to let go.

“Love you,” he breathed, while Mark wiped his hand off with a tissue from the glove compartment. “Think there's carpet burn on my arse,” he added. Mark snorted.

“I'll kiss it better.”

“You start that and the others will wonder where we've gotten to.”

“Kip in the back of the van. You're tired.”

“Am I? Cheers.” He sat up, began to look for his clothes. Mark was smiling at him fondly. “What?”

“Just... you.”

“You too.” Nicky cupped his cheek. Leaned in for a tender kiss that felt just as real as the savage ones they'd shared five minutes before. “Tell me it's not going to be that long again.” Mark shrugged and pulled away to get his own clothes. Nicky understood. It wasn't a promise either of them could make.

This was enough. Kissing occasionally as they dressed, cuddling in the van for a little while longer, Nicky almost dozing and breathing in the smell of Mark, the feel of arms around him and the occasional soft murmurs of laughter as they talked about nothing in particular.

“Sure you don't want to sleep?” Mark asked. Nicky shook his head.

“No. We have to get going.” He looked up. “Little bit longer?”

“Little bit longer,” Mark agreed, and kissed him.

  
  


*

  
  


They found everyone at the campsite. Kian was cheerfully chatting up Georgina's friend, who had somehow made her tanktop sit much lower and her bra much higher than when Nicky had first met her. They looked like they were about to escape up her neck.

“Where'd you get to?”

“Just went to check things out.” There were more people here now. Half of Sligo looked to have turned up to squash under a shitty plastic lean-to. “How's everything?”

“Caught the last band. They were good.” Michael said it nervously. “Like, really good.”

“You're really good too,” Nicky promised.

“We are,” Kian agreed. “And we've got our secret weapon.” Mark's face was frozen in a rictus of panic. “Freddie here's gonna take the roof off.”

“There isn't a roof,” Graham pointed out.

“It's a metaphor,” Kian snapped. Graham raised his hands in defence. “We're all nervous. Anyone wants to throw up, do it now. I'm probably going to and I _know_ we're better than that lot.” A ripple of screams and applause from over the hill seemed to punctuate his words. “Get up, do what you know how to do. We've practiced so much it's in our blood.” They all nodded. Michael ran for the closest bin. They all watched him heave. “There we go, Michael's ready. Good, Migs?”

A shaky thumbs up emerged from the boy buried in the bin.

“Brilliant. I'm going to take a nervous shit.” Kian began to stalk off. Graham hesitated, then followed in the direction of the portaloos.

“Er...” Mark was white. “Er...”

“Hey,” Nicky murmured. Everybody had wandered away now that Kian's inspiring speech had apparently finished. “You're the only person who knows what we just did in the van.” Mark's frown turned into a nervous snigger. “And I'm the only one who knows what a filthy little fuck you are. And that you pissed yourself at the beach because I buried you in sand and wouldn't let you out, and I felt bad so I threw a bucket of seawater over you so nobody would notice.” He squeezed Mark's hand quickly, let go. “You got this?”

“I got it.” Terrified eyes fixed on him. “Might be sick, though.”

“Go be sick,” Nicky urged. “Just don't do it on the audience. You're not Alice Cooper, chewing on bats.” That almost got a laugh. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Michael was just staggering back over from the bin. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Nicky agreed. “Go on.”

  
  


*

  
  


They found their spots an hour or so before the show. Nicky thought it might be difficult, but despite the masses of people it was a crowd that was constantly moving, as fluid as jam – a bit sticky, but ultimately passable if you found the right angle. Soon they were nearish to the stage and at an impasse, though still close enough to see the drummer if they squinted.

The singer was good, in an ethereal, Sarah McLachlan kind of way, all ripped jeans and panpipes. She finished to a decent round of applause, though it was a strange twilight time and Nicky could feel everyone moving around as the night closed in, see couples snogging and people who'd had too good a time stumbling their way back up the hill.

“Who's on next?” he heard the lass nearby say.

“Er...” The girl she was with glanced at his flier. “Freddie and the Life.”

“Ooh, I've heard them on the college station!” she exclaimed. “Brilliant!” Nicky found himself beaming. Realised the hill was filling up again, that he was being pressed forward.

“ _Who's this?”_

“ _Sligo band. My cousin said they're good.”_

“ _Look like queers.”_

The lights onstage flickered. Nicky felt his stomach clench. Gillian grasped his hand, and when he looked over he saw Shane had the other side, that they were all chewing their lips. He took Georgina's hand as well. Saw she had Jess's.

“Freddie,” the lad behind them started, one of Gillian's relatives. Nicky laughed and joined in. “Freddie! Freddie! Freddie!” Thirty or so Sligo natives, a little pocket near the stage, though it spread, just enough confused drunk pepole to pick up the chant. Before Nicky knew it it was half up the side of the hill and starting to ripple across the back.

The stage went dark. Three shadows shifted out, almost ghosts in the twilight dim.

Kian strummed his guitar.

“How're ya Kilkenny ya feeling alright tonight?” he breathed. It was sexy. Low. Nicky saw a girl nearby squeal and shift a step toward the stage. “You look fucking beautiful. Here's a song.”

He strummed again, then laughed and started a familiar riff.

A ripple of interest went through. Nicky tipped his head back as the first spatters of rain started.

“ _The boys are back in town, the boys are back in town...”_ Kian singing. Nicky wasn't prepared. He sounded amazing. _“The boys are back in to-ow-ow-own...”_ The same riff over and over. It started small. Michael was clapping the beat above his head, Graham tapping it out on the hi-hat. _“The boys are back in town_...”

Nicky didn't know how long. Five seconds. Twenty. But everyone was clapping, the beat picked up by a thousand people, then two, rippling out. A crack of thunder. It didn't stop anything. If anything he heard people whoop with delight and clap harder, their singing matching the perfect pitch of the boy behind the microphone.

“Keep it going!” Kian yelled. They did. Nicky was screaming it. Could see the savage terror on their faces. See the flicker when they broke the chant and Kian played another chord. When Graham twirled the drumsticks and slammed them down.

Mark stepped out, dark eyes and hair raked to the side.

Nicky lost his breath.

“ _Baby you're all that I want, when you're lying here in my arms.”_ There was a shriek. Half the audience kept the beat. Kian was laughing. _“I'm finding it hard to believe we're in heaven...”_

It fit perfectly. Sped up to match the beat. Back and forth they went. The two voices chasing each other, the crowd belting along. Fit to the same key, and Nicky saw that look. The one he'd seen the first time, of two people meant to do this, caught in a moment that spread out to pull in everyone in the room.

“ _Now are dreams are coming true..._

_...the boys are back in town..._

_through the good times and the bad..._

_...the boys are back in town again...”_

Nicky couldn't breathe. Not while they were still going. While the song was finishing and sliding effortlessly into a Skrod original, keeping the crowd despite the unfamiliar track. Two songs later and it seemed they had thirty thousand people in the palm of their hands.

He sobbed. Felt Gillian squeeze his hand. Looked up and saw Mark smile. Not at him. At the sky. The rain. The people, staring back and caught in the moment with him.

Nicky smiled back. At a boy who'd refused to cry over his grazed knee. Who'd climbed the carport so they could play Lego. Who'd told him that Michael Jackson was maybe the coolest person on the whole planet. Who'd always been waiting there, with the biggest smile on his face.

The music slowed. Kian stepped away from the mic, began to play an unfamiliar riff.

Eyes found him in the crowd. Nicky smiled back.

“ _Come take my hand now,_  
Know there is now doubt  
I'm here for you, I'll be the truth...”

He stepped closer to Georgina, needing comfort. An arm looped around his waist. Gillian on the other side.

“ _All I know is I can't breathe,  
Without you next to me...”_

He couldn't breathe either. Knew his heart was beating, but only because it was to the beat of the song. Slow and powerful, managing to sound so much bigger than guitar and bass and drum. Because it was Mark. Chasing away the rain. More than anyone had any right to be, and he was Nicky's.

_The world is ours tonight.  
Come on get closer...”_

Mark wrote this, he wanted to say. My Mark.

Instead all he could do was hang onto the people next to him and try not to fall.

  
  


*

  
  


Nicky pushed through the crowd. Didn't know where he was going, except Mark had exited stage left and...

His phone rang. He grabbed it out of his pocket.

“Party at Shane's!” Kian crowed. “That was amazing lad! Let's get fucked up!” The phone cut out, leaving Nicky laughing helplessly. He doubled back to find the others. It was a press to get out. He could hear snippets of conversation. That band was brilliant, have to get their CD. Who's on next? Aw, nah heard they're shite, nothing's gonna follow that anyway.

He launched himself on Mark when they arrived. Didn't mind about propriety. Not when he felt the sweaty press of a black t-shirt against him, arms around his waist.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I loved it.”

They split quickly, before it could get suspicious. Not that anyone was noticing. It seemed everyone was hugging. Kian was practically wearing Jess, didn't seem too upset about it at all, though he had to extract himself when his phone rang.

“Hello?” His face froze. They all looked round, caught by the sudden silence. “Yes, Mr Walsh. Definitely. Thank you, I appreciate...” He took a deep breath. “Yes sir. Louis. I will. Okay. Bye then, and thank you for...” He pulled the phone from his ear, stared at it for a moment, then tucked it back in his pocket. Graham broke the silence.

“What was it?”

“He um... Louis Walsh wants to see us at our earliest convenience,” Kian recited. Michael put his hand over his mouth, looked like he might throw up again. He'll... drive up to Sligo, he said. Wants to see what else we've got.”

“Oh fuck,” Mark whispered. Nicky grabbed his hand. It didn't pull away.

If anyone minded underage drinking it wasn't the place for them. An hour later Michael and Graham were wrestling excitedly on the ground and Nicky had seen Kian and Jess sneak off somewhere, most of the way to being attached. Georgina and Gillian were dancing to Shane's boombox, which Finbar had retrieved from the car. The last gig had finished. Nobody was going to sleep.

And in the confusion, Mark took his hand and pulled.

“Where we going?”

“Van,” Mark said shortly. Nicky nodded and followed. They almost ran down the hill. Nicky climbed in, laughing when Mark climbed on top of him in an almost playful wrestle, his hands fumbling for the hem of Nicky's shirt.

They both started at the grind of the door opening.

“Oh.” Kian was staring. Nicky blinked back. Still clothed, at least, but no less incriminating. Mark was knelt half over him. Kian was still staring.

“Kian...”

“Um.” Kian swallowed, then shook his head. “Right. Suppose that makes sense then. Er... Jess, just wait there, it's a bit of a mess.” He looked back at them. “We had the same idea. So like... fair play.” He hesitated again. “Um.”

“We'll go.”

“No. You've... started.” He backed away slightly. “We'll find somewhere else.” He began to close the doors. “Don't tell anyone?” They both nodded furiously. “Cool. Okay. Good show tonight, Fred. See you in the morning.” The doors shut.

Mark collapsed on the carpet, groaning. Nicky couldn't stop laughing.

“Guess we've got the place to ourselves,” he pointed out. Mark punched him in the thigh. “Ow.”

“Fuck off.” He sighed. Uncovered his eyes.

“What do you want to do?”

Mark shrugged. Looked up. Nicky looked back, at black eyeliner half smeared down his cheek, stubble through the makeup, cheeks pink. Took his hand and saw half a smile.

“We'll figure it out,” he said finally. Nicky squeezed his hand. “Together?”

“Definitely together.” He bent to press a tender kiss to Mark's mouth. “Took us this long. Sure things'll work out.”

“How do you know?”

“The world is ours tonight,” Nicky sang softly. Mark laughed, though when he stopped he was beaming. “Bet you've got more songs. Is there one about how I'm going to ravage you in a van?”

“No.”

“There is now. I'll help you write it.” Mark snorted. “Love you,” he whispered. Mark pulled him close.

“It's all I ever wanted,” he whispered back.

 


End file.
